


Dousing the Flames

by sksdwrld



Series: Feeling the Burn [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Angst, M/M, Sequel, Stockholm Syndrome, not kidding-its angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2017-12-04 05:07:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 29,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/706904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sksdwrld/pseuds/sksdwrld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the sequel to Playing With Fire.</p><p>The contract which had enslaved Harry Potter to Draco Malfoy for three long years has expired. Against all odds, all Harry wants now is to renew it and continue his service to Draco. Real life and fantasy prove once again to be two very different animals, and Harry will have to fight to make his dream a reality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I tried to write the epilogue to Playing with Fire, but I couldn't keep it brief. So, here's the sequel, planned to be much shorter (about 20 chapters). The format is going to change as well. The posts will be shorter, and there will be POV changes for each chapter, and will include Hermione. Yeah, more angst. I can't keep everyone happy for long, can I?

Draco stood in the doorway of his darkened room, looking down at the silhouetted form of his former slave and current lover-one in the same-curled in their bedsheets. It seemed like ages ago that his heart had swelled with the news that Harry wanted to stay with him, even though his contract had expired. But after a day of happy fucking, he'd woken in the middle of the night, his heart hammering in his chest, and a nagging guilt creeping into his brain.

 

"It's called Stockholm Syndrome, and I suggest you look into it if you have a commendable bone in your body!" Granger's voice rang in his head, over, and over. The thing was, he had looked into it, some time ago. Capture-bonding, they called it, and for good reason. Draco could see where there was a good possibility that the attachment Harry had formed with him was a product of all the beating and harassment and trauma that he'd inflicted on him, followed by Draco's doting and possessiveness...

 

It was clear that the two of them shared something...fucked up. They were both products of their childhood environments, neither of which, Draco realized now, had any semblance of normalcy. Not compared to other wizards, and certainly not compared to their Muggle friends, Mike and Gideon; who had been led to believe Draco was the disinherited gay son-turned-chemistry-student of a posh and wealthy couple grown rich on the stock market, and Harry a disenchanted but loyal orphan-turned-kept-boy. Which was more or less the truth. Less, because the facts of the matter were, that Draco had grown up in a household that not only condoned, but celebrated the buying, selling, and extreme mental and physical abuse of human chattel and Harry spent the first eleven years of his life locked in a cupboard under the stairs and re-enacting some muggle family's fucked up version of Cinderella. Then after years of teenage rivalry, Harry'd gone and signed himself up for Slave-Academy, and Draco'd gone and bought him with all intents of exacting revenge for said years. Then, somewhere along the way, Draco had grown a heart, a soul, and a set of balls, and Harry learned when to shut his mouth and when to spread his legs, and Bob's your Uncle, happily ever after...Fuck. Draco pushed away from the bedroom, padding softly but quickly to the patio. He needed the cool night air to clear his head.

 

It took him hours to come to a conclusion. He'd sat out there in the chill, forgetting to cast warming charms around himself, he was so deep in thought. He'd meant to convince himself of all the reasons why Harry should stay with him, why Harry was better off if Draco kept providing for him but in the end, all roads pointed to the opposite. Draco might need and want Harry, but there were only a few reasons that Harry should feel the same. If there was a chance that Harry wouldn't want him if he had time to...recouperate...if there was a chance that Harry would choose someone else, if Draco wasn't hovering over him...if there was a chance Harry would be happy with someone else... with whom he didn't share this fucked up...whatever it was...

 

Could he even call it a relationship if Harry hadn't had a choice in any of it, for the last three years? He didn't want this if Harry didn't really want him. It was a great fucking mess, is what it was. Because if he'd never latched on to bitterness and boyhood rivalries, he would never have come to love Harry for what he was. But if the way Harry was, effectively, was a product of Draco's making, then he didn't really love the real Harry, and Harry couldn't really love him.

 

But that meant...it meant that there had to be some way of finding out, if what Harry said he felt for him was real, or if it was the product of some fucking psychological disorder. It meant that Draco had to let Harry go...Draco's throat tightened around a lump so large, he found he couldn't swallow. Wasn't there another answer? Maybe it would be less painful to just obliviate the both of them...

 

When Harry woke in the early hours of the morning, he stumbled out to find Draco, crouched on the corner of the patio with his arms wrapped around himself. The wet tracks on Draco's cheeks were lit silver by the waning light of the moon.


	2. Chapter 2

"I know what fucking Stockholm Syndrome is! I only had to listen to Hermione preach about it a thousand fucking times for S.P.E.W...." Harry bellowed, turning his back on Draco to brace himself in the doorframe of their bedroom. After a moment, he whirled back again. "Hermione! Did she fucking put you up to this?!?!"

There was a fury in his eyes that Draco had never seen before, and for a moment, he thought Harry might strike him."Harry, for fuck's sake, will you sit down so we can talk about this?"

"What's there to talk about?" Harry screamed, red-faced. "Yesterday, you almost had a nervous breakdown because you thought I was leaving you. And now you're....you're..." his lip began to tremble and he sank onto the edge of one of the couch cushions with his face in his hands. "You're sending me away!" Harry's body shook from the force of his sobbing.

Draco crossed the room and sat next to Harry, slinging his arm around his shoulders. "Pet..." He sighed deeply. "I don't want to send you away either. But I think it's for the best--"

"For the best?" Harry shrilled, lifting his head to give Draco a look of miserable incomprehension before shoving his arm away from him. "How can you feel that way? How can you think sending me back to England while you stay here, alone? I...You...." He dissolved in tears again.

"Harry!" Draco said, tears of frustration and sadness building in his own eyes.

"You said you loved me!" Harry sobbed into his hands. "If you loved me, you'd let me stay."

"And I meant i--wait. You heard me? I thought you were sleeping?"

"Is that the only reason you said it? Because you thought I wouldn't hear you? Fuck you, Draco!"

Draco frowned and said in a warning tone, "Harry."

"No!" Harry screamed as he leapt to his feet. "You don't get to play 'Master' now. You don't get to tell me you love me then put me out on my arse, and expect me to pretend to be alright. You don't deserve my respect!"

Subdued, Draco look askance. "You're right," he said. "I never deserved it, but you gave it to me anyway. And now I'm asking you to do something for us, Harry. For us. That's bigger than me, and it's bigger than you, and will you just sit down and fucking shut it so I can tell you why?"

"Alright." Harry glared and folded his arms over his chest. "Tell me why you're throwing everything we have away, and if you fucking say because Hermione, I'll--"

"It's because of Hermione, and Ron, all of the Weasleys, and my parents, and all of your friends, and Severus, and the general public, and anyone who will raise a question over us--" Draco said, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling.

"Who fucking cares about them?" Harry interrupted.

"Shut your bloody gob and listen to me, now!" Draco growled suddenly, his tone icy and hard.

Harry, whether it was force of habit or something else, let his jaw shut with a clack and dropped to his knees, tucking his chin to his chest and his hands behind his back.

Draco circled him slowly, searching for the right words. He dropped his fingertips into Harry's mop of hair, momentarily distracted by the length, and because couldn't remember the last time he'd taken Harry to be groomed. It had been a long time, because he was brewing his own depilatory potions, though he'd never felt confident enough to do anything to the hair on Harry's head...But that was neither here nor there. He forced himself to push the thought aside, and returned to the issue at hand.

"It is important, to me, that you return to England. Show everyone that you're alright. Prove to everyone that you don't have Stockholm Syndrome and that I haven't irreparably damaged you, or unduly influenced you to stay. Harry, you have to trust me on this," Draco's voice took on more of a pleading quality. "It's the only way we can be together, and hope to have anyone accept it. And I want them to accept us, because...because..." Draco took a long, deep breath and exhaled slowly.

"Because we may want to return some day. Because you might miss your friends, and I don't want to be the reason any more, that you don't see them. Because I want to go out in public with you, or even by myself, and not be hexed within an inch of my life. Because I want you to be safe from kidnapping attempts, and people who think they need to rehabilitate you or save you from me. Damn it, Harry, I love you, but I don't want to spend the rest of my life, hiding in this shithole flat. So yes, I'm asking you to do this one last thing." He angled his head so that he could catch Harry's eyes with his own, and cleared his throat before clarifying, "Telling. Telling you, because for all I fucking know, you do have Stockholm Syndrome...Merlin help me, I don't want to live without you, but if I've done something to fuck you up, I'd rather you figured it now so at least one of us can go on with their lives properly." Finished, he curled Harry into his arms and held him tightly.

Harry was silent a long while. He did not return Draco's embrace. Then, he said into Draco's stomach, "How long?"

Draco sucked in another breath, held it, let it out slowly. "I don't know. How ever long it takes."

"How long is it supposed to take?" Harry implored, struggling to free himself from the embrace so that he could turn his eyes up at Draco again. They were full of hurt and confusion.

"I don't know, Harry!" Draco scowled. "Ask Hermione. Until the public is bloody satisfied."

Haven't you learned anything by now?" Harry grumbled. "They're never satisfied."

"I know," Draco agreed softly.

"Then what does it matter, then? I'm fine," Harry insisted. "Please, Draco, don't make me go."

"I'm sorry, Harry," Draco said softly. He tipped Harry's face up and gave him a gentle kiss. He had to bite back his own tears when Harry's eyelids fluttered closed and he accepted the kiss, and with it, Draco's decree. "I love you," he whispered placatingly.

Harry just nodded. "When should I go?"

"I..." Draco sighed. "I thought I'd take you tomorrow morning. Side-along you, you know. Since you probably need to practice more, it's been so long. With everything," He rambled. "By the time I come for you, I bet you'll be back up to par with your wand, and your magic, and everything. And you can blow holes in your own walls without having to worry about our things, or making me angry, or calling down the wrath of the French Ministry of Magic."

 

 

Harry stood in the entryway of Grimmauld Place. He was silent, but far from stoic. He'd found Draco early that morning, half-frozen and tear-stained on the patio. He'd known then something was wrong, but he wouldn't ever have guessed something like this was going to happen. Now he was standing in the entry way of his old, dusty, and practically empty townhome with his luggage and a headache. Draco stood beside him in a leather jacket, chewing his lip and avoiding eye contact with Harry.

"I suppose I should-" Draco said, making a vague motion with his hand toward the door.

Harry felt all of his strength drain out of him and he collpased to his knees, ignoring the echo and Draco's sudden intake of breath in favor of throwing both of his arms around Draco's calves. He held on so tightly that Draco wavered and nearly lost his balance. He grabbed at Harry's shoulders to steady himself and cursed. "Please!" Harry heard his voice, muffled because his mouth was pressed to the tops of Draco's shoes. "Please don't leave me here!"

"This is your home, Harry."

"No, it's not!" Harry sobbed. "My home is with you!"

Draco made an exasperated sound. "We've been through this, Pet. I-"

"And I said I didn't bloody care! I don't care if anyone accepts it, and I don't care what my friends think. If they're really my friends, they'll love me anyway!"

"Of course they will," Draco placated, and smoothed Harry's hair. "But they don't love me, and they'll go on thinking I'm manipulating you, and that's not fair to me, or to you, or them. And this is your home, and I've kept you from it for too long. And it won't be long-"

"Can't you just tell me, how long?" Harry interrupted with a sniffle.

"I don't know, Pet. Until everyone is convinced I haven't damaged you and you're capable of making your own reasonable, rational decisions."

Harry rolled his head back and forth. "No. Noooo."

"Get up, Harry. Grovelling isn't going to buy my mercy on this, I've made up my mind. You're staying. I'm going. And when we get this sorted, I'll be back. I'll come back for you..."

Harry shook his head, feeling the laces of Draco's boots scrape across his forehead. He had to agree to this to. Draco couldn't just leave him here. He was a free wizard again. He had some say in the matter, and he wanted to stay.

"Get up now!" Draco suddenly barked in Romanian. Harry felt his body complying before he had the chance to think about it. It was a conditioned reaction to those gutteral commands, learned long before he'd even met Draco. He found himself growing angry that Draco would use that against him like this. "Stand straight, hands behind your back!" Draco slowly circled him and Harry felt his prick stir to life under the scrutiny. He slanted his eyes, watching his Master...his confident posture, his narrowed eyes, the flush suffusing his cheeks. That kind of composure and assertiveness was and always had been a heady aphrodisiac for Harry. He licked his lips. "Eyes forward!" Draco continued to snap in the dialect, and Harry found himself staring at the wall. "You will not move-you will stay like this until I send someone for you. You will not follow me. You will not return to our flat unless I've send word. Understood?"

Harry whimpered, but Draco moved into his field of view and eyed him intently. "Yes, Master Draco." he whispered.

"Good Boy," Draco exhaled in relief, and leaned forward, curling his hand around Harry's neck. He pressed a warm, lingering kiss to Harry's forehead. Harry felt hot tears spill over his already wet lashes, and rain down his cheeks. "Don't," Draco said as he pulled back. He thumbed the tears from Harry's right cheek, and kissed them from the left. "My love....I-" he broke off, pressing his mouth against Harry's. It was a long kiss, but a chaste, affectionate one. Somehow, Harry managed to keep himself ramrod straight, and didn't allow his body to curl into Draco's.

Harry felt Draco's hands knit into his hair. Heat radiated off of Draco's body as he stepped closer. Draco's chest was rising in short panting breaths, and for the first time, Harry realized that Draco truly didn't want this either. He made a soft sound in the back of his throat and leaned slightly forward, about to say fuck-all and wrap his arms around his lover and never let him go.

"Stay," Draco said softly and when Harry's breath hitched, he clarified. "Stay _here_ " and planted a kiss on the top of Harry's head with a sense of finality that made his heart sink. "I'm sorry, Harry. I-" he took a stumbling set of steps backward. His face was blotchy and pink, and his eyes were wet, red. "It's not fair, and I can't do this, I just, I have to..." He darted forward, claming one last kiss, disapparating the instant his lips touched Harry's.

Harry startled at the crack, strained his head forward to catch the ghost that was already gone. Then his breath blustered out of him in a sob, and it was all he could do to keep himself on his feet and not crumble to the floor. Master said, he reminded himself again, and again. I will not move until someone comes for me. Master said...


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione was just sitting down to finish the last dregs of her tea and read The Daily Prophet when her wards sounded, alerting her that there was someone on her doorstep. She sighed heavily and pulled herself back to her feet. It was bad enough that she had to follow Ron around all morning long, mothering him until he made it out the door for work, in addition to getting ready for her own job. But without fail, every time she managed to scrape a few minutes together for herself before going her own way, something cropped up.

 

"Ye-es?" wincing as her tone belied her annoyance. There was a tow-headed man on her steps, and it took her a moment to recognize him as Draco Malfoy. She frowned. In the three years that Harry had been in the service of-she had to think of it that way, or else it would make her insane-in the service of Malfoy, he'd shown up unannounced at Molly and Arthur's home exactly twice, and to her flat never.

 

"Malfoy?" She said incredulously. He looked up at her, and the expression on his face was completely stricken. "What's wrong?" She glanced past him, looking for Harry. "Where's Harry?"

 

Malfoy dropped his face into his hands and made a sound of anguish, followed by unintelligible mumbling, and "...Harry!"

 

"Oh, Gods!" Hermione felt her stomach drop away. In the back of her mind, she had known that Harry's contract was up today. Or was it yesterday? Or tomorrow? She should have written it on the calendar. Or Ron should have rememebred, because he was the one who'd made the copies of the damned thing in the first place. Had Harry rebelled against Malfoy's ownership? Had Malfoy done something to prevent him from leaving in the heat of the moment, and now had come to her because things had gone wrong? Had the return of Harry's magic malfunctioned? All of this and more passed through her mind in a whirr, and her heart began to beat in her throat. "You bastard! What have you done to him?" Her wand was out in an instant, and before she could think, she heard herself yell, "Incarcerous!"

 

Malfoy struggled against the ropes that quickly bound him, then toppled foward into Hermione and Ron's flat. "Sweet fucking Salazar, Granger! He swore, twisting on the ground to glare up at her. "What the hell are you doing?"

 

Hermione clapped her hand over her mouth to muffle her squeak of surprise, then bent down, tugging him over the threshhold so she could properly shut the door. "Ohmigod, ohmigod!" She gasped. "Where's Harry? What have you done to him?"

 

Malfoy managed to flop over onto his back, and he blew his hair out of his face in exasperation."Oy, Granger. He's fine...He's at Twelve Grimmauld...that's what I came to talk to you about..."

 

Hermione blinked. "About what, specifically?"

 

Malfoy wriggled in a way that might have been comical if the situation wasn't so serious. "Un-tie a bloke, yeah? I swear on my wand, he's alive and well, or at least he was when I left him." he sighed heavily.

 

"What!" Hermione paused in the mid-infinite, her wand still poised in the air.

 

"Why do you always have to make things so difficult?" Malfoy scowled, then relented. "Harry's contract expired yesterday." his eyes slanted sideways. "He said he wanted to stay...but I got to thinking...about what you said..."

 

"What I said?" Hermione questioned.

 

"Yeah, you know. Awhile back. About Stockholm Syndrome and all. And you know, I thought maybe there was something to it after all. I...Christ, could you let me up?"

Hermione released him, but kept her wand handy just in case. She mumbled an insincere apology and indicated that they should relocate to the kitchen table. 

Malfoy seemed disinclined to sit, and stood, hovering near the door instead. He rubbed his left cheek, which had made rather solid contact with the floorboards in Hermione's entryway as he fell. He swore again to himself, brushed the wrinkles out of his clothes. "Merlin, Granger. It's lovely to know that you trust me after all this time. And to think I was actually hoping you were home..."

 

"What reason have you every given me to trust you?" Hermione replied. "Your polite indifference a few times a month? Anyway," Hermione said pointedly and rolled her eyes. "Stockholm Syndrome."

 

"Yeah." Malfoy said, folding his arms over his chest as he leaned against the door jamb. "And, I looked in to it, you know. And I...well I thought maybe Harry was only staying on with me because he had it. So...I mean, I didn't want to keep him if...I mean if he only wants me because...I mean, it's all so fucked up." He put his head in his hands and rolled it about, and Hermione thought she heard him take a hitching breath. She reached out awkwardly, intending to pat his shoulder reassuringly. Her hand froze just as he lifted his head and said, "I really love him, you know?" Malfoy exhaled in a rush and let his face drop into his palms, mumbling incoherently again. "So anyway," He went on, lifting his head and rubbing at his eyes with the knuckles of one hand. "He was freaking out, and wouldn't let me leave, Merlin knows I didn't want to either. So I...I ordered him to stay put and not to move until someone came for him..."

 

"You did what?" Hermione blinked.

 

"Well, he would have tried to follow me back to France, and I couldn't have him just...I know it seems counter intuitive, but that's why you've got to go over there and make sure he's all right."

"What makes you think Harry's just standing there, waiting for me to show up?" Hermione asked doubtfully.

Malfoy cocked his head and looked at her in a way that made her suddenly uncomfortable.

 

"Right. Merlin forbid..." Hermione sighed, eternally saddened by Harry's complacence and acceptance of Malfoy's supposed authority, even in his absence. But she supposed he only had a sense of self-preservation to blame. "And how long has he been there?"

 

"Maybe fifteen, twenty minutes." Malfoy said. "You could have been there by now if you hadn't wasted so much time, tossing about useless hexes..."

 

"Well," Hermione reasoned as she slid out of her seat. Malfoy stood as well. "How was I to know what was going on? You were looking awfully dodgy..."

 

"Hex first, ask questions later?" Malfoy fired back. "Learn that from our favorite auror, did we?"

 

Hermione shrugged, refusing to be dragged into that discussion. Then she lifted her chin and looked Malfoy bvriefly in the eyes as she passed him on the way to the entry way again. "So I'm going to go over there and he's going to be an emotional mess and you want me to do what, exactly?"

 

"Just be his friend, Granger. Isn't that what you Gryffindors are known for? Your loyalty and all that..." he waved his hand. Then his gaze shifted away again, and his snide tone fell away. "Just...make sure he doesn't hurt himself. And keep him company. And, you know. Make sure he's okay. And...I just...I'm trying to give him some space. To make sure, you know, there's nothing wrong with him and I haven't...ruined him, like you said I might have done."

 

"Oh." Hermione said. Imagine that, Malfoy taking something she had said into consideration, and applying it. "Well, I suppose I should get a move on then, yeah?"

 

Draco tipped his head in acknowledgement and peeled away from the jamb, following her to the door. "I...look..." He sighed. "Thanks, Granger. I appreciate it. And...one more thing?" She quirked her brow at him as he turned to face her after stepping over the threshhold. "Whatever the outcome, you'll let me know? I just...I'll come back for him, if...I'm more than happy to, that is, I want..I'm still..."

 

"Of course," Hermione forced a smile and reached past Malfoy to pullher door shut. The wards pulsed as they reset themselves. Hermione couldn't imagine that given time to figure things out, Harry would ever want to go back to that sort of lifestyle, but she was rather impressed, at any rate by Malfoy's seemingly sudden surge of conscience and his admission, however awkward it was for him to do so. "Thank you, Malfoy. You've done the right thing." He looked doubtful as she disapparated.

 

Hermione knocked only twice before the door swung open, and Kreacher stood in it's wake. He looked as angry and crotchety as ever. Beyond him, she could see Harry in the entryway, standing with his feet slightly spread, his arms crossed behind his back, and his head bent. He was sniffling softly and his cheeks were wet. Hermione cocked her head at the elderly house-elf. "Kreacher, if I may...I'm here for Harry..." he scowled and beckoned her inside, and as she crossed the threshold, Harry looked up. His face crumpled further, but Hermione reached him before he could drop completely to the floor, wrapping her arms around him and somehow managing to keep them both upright. 

 

She smoothed his hair, crooning and rocking him. She realized after a moment, that he was sobbing, "Not you, not you!" into her shoulder. 

 

"Shhh, Harry, Harry. It's alright, It's going to be alright."

 

"No it's not!" Harry managed to jerk out of her grasp and fell to his knees, pulling his balled fists against his chest as he resisted her touch. "Get out! This is all your fault! You made him...you made him!"

 

Hermione rolled her eyes skyward, imploring whatever deity existed to help her out. "I'm going to put the kettle on, Harry." She said firmly, stepping around his prone form as he tantrumed. "We'll sit down and talk about this if you want to. I know you're upset and it's going to take awhile to adjust....You don't mind if I step away to floo-in sick?" She didn't wait for his response. She was going to handle this the only way she knew how. With patience and research, and Ron's shoulder to lean on when things got rough.


	4. Chapter 4

Ron flooed in, yanking his auror robes off before he even had the chance to stand straight. "Sorry, Hermione. I came as soon as I could, but I was in the middle of the paperwork from the Peterman case and..."

 

"It's okay." Hermione replied softly, getting up from the chair and sidetable where she'd been sitting with her laptop and cup of tea, probably for the better part of the afternoon. She stretched then crossed and kissed Ron on the cheek. "I think he exhausted himself yelling at me. The worst part was the crying...but, well, then he went upstairs and slammed the door, and I haven't heard from him since. I'm pretty sure he's still sleeping."

 

Ron arched an eyebrow. "How do you even know if he's still here? That he didn't try to follow Malfoy back?"

"Kreacher told me," Hermione sighed. "And besides, Malfoy told him not to leave."

 

He scowled and sat down in Hermione's chair, polishing the dregs of her cold tea in a single swig. "He'll be alright, though?"

 

"I don't know, Ron." Hermione admitted. "I've been on the net all afternoon, researching Stockholm Syndrome. There's a lot of information, but a lot of it just references the same few cases. There isn't much about recovery, and what there is, well, it's pretty vague. Some of the information says it just takes time. Other sources imply that he'll need deconditioning. A few sites said that some victims never recover." She perched on Ron's lap and let her head fall on his shoulder. "I'm going to have to go to a Muggle Library and see what else I can find. And I think I'll have to get in contact with a psychologist-no...that wouldn't work. I'll have to find a mind-healer of sorts."

 

"You're assuming he's got this...this Stock-home Syndrome." Ron said. "But how do you know? Doesn't a doctor have to decide that?"

 

"Oh, Ron!" Hermione said, the way she did when she thought she was obviously right about something. She turned the laptop toward him, punching a few buttons. "There, look." But he didn't have to, because she read off the screen to him, "Every syndrome has symptoms or behaviors and Stockholm Syndrome is no exception. While a clear-cut list has not been established due to varying opinions by researchers and experts, several of these features will be present: Positive feelings by the victim toward the abuser/controller, Negative feelings by the victim toward family, friends, or authorities trying to rescue/support them or win their release,Support of the abuser’s reasons and behaviors, Positive feelings by the abuser toward the victim, Supportive behaviors by the victim, at times helping the abuser, and Inability to engage in behaviors that may assist in their release or detachment."

 

Ron looked at her dubiously. Hermione often used her Muggle device to find information to prove him wrong about something. Usually, he didn't bother to argue. And while he had harbored a lengthy grudge toward Malfoy, Harry was right that he had changed. He still couldn't see why Harry would want to stay with him, but that didn't mean Harry's feelings were illigitimate, or the source of some mental disorder. He reached past her and continued to scroll downward, reading, probably slower than Hermione would have liked. "It says that you should seek the help of professionals in the medical and legal fields," Ron reminded her as he got to the bottom of the page. "I think maybe that's what you ought to do, before you go making a big deal out of this. Harry's my friend, and I'm not about to go around, telling him how he's supposed to feel, even if I don't understand it myself. Who knows? Maybe he really does love the git."

 

"Thank you, Ron," Harry's voice made both Ron and Hermione jump.

 

Ron smiled sheepishly from beyond Hermione. "Hey there, Harry. Good to see you again. How're you feeling?"

 

Harry rubbed his face. His eyes were puffy and red, and his cheeks were mottled, as though he'd been crying. His hair was matted down on one side, though he attempted to smooth it for a few moments. "Like shit." He grumbled, then wrapped his arms around himself, looking about the room as though he were lost. "Is there any more tea? My head hurts so bad...."

 

Hermione glanced between them, then jumped to her feet. "I'll get it." She said. "Harry, you just put your feet up and relax. Are you hungry? I can see about having something delivered...does anyone want takeaway?"

 

Harry didn't respond to her, and flung himself into the chair opposite Ron. He was making a show of deliberately ignoring her.

 

Ron fought the urge to roll his eyes. He absolutely hated it when he was forced to be the mature one in a group. "Takeaway would be great, 'Mione. I'm famished. Haven't had curry in a few days, let's do that."

 

Hermione sighed loudly. "Ron. Maybe you should ask Harry if he wants curry. No one's asked him what he wanted in a long time, I'm sure. It's not going to help him any, if you keep making decisions for him like that."

 

Harry went rigid, and gripped the arms of the chair tightly. Through a clenched jaw, he replied to Hermione. "I am right here, Hermione. Don't talk about me as if I am some mental defective who hasn't got a clue what you're saying. And contrary to your belief, my needs, wants, and preferences are often taken into consideration. Draco is very attentive and kind." Harry angled his head toward Ron in deference. "Thank you, Ron, for suggesting curry. It does sound fantastic. We don't get too much of it back home." Harry pulled his feet up onto the seat of the chair and tucked them underneath him.

 

"Er, right." Ron said uncomfortably. He glanced at Hermione, whose mouth was set firmly. She shook her head minutely, then stormed out of the room with an audible huff. "So..." he said, hoping that Harry would start chatting and fill the uncomfortable silence that was rapidly blooming between them. "You up for a round of Wizards chess?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hermione quotes information from the world-wide-web, which can be found here: http://drjoecarver.makeswebsites.com/clients/49355/File/love_and_stockholm_syndrome.html


	5. Chapter 5

Draco trudged home, dragging along his cartons of take-away for the forth night in a row. He'd known that Harry had done a lot for him, but he'd never truly appreciated how much Harry'd been responsible for keeping Draco's life from falling to pieces. Draco was busy with his apothecary internship. He spent ten to twelve hours a day working side by side with Roam, exerting nearly all of his energy in chopping, mashing, mincing, pulverizing, and slicing...brewing, baking, molding, pressing, dusting, coating, pouring, and labelling the various ingredients, potions, pills, salves, lotions, and the like. By the time he made it home, there seemed like there wasn't time to tend his plants, cook for himself, clean up, relax, wank, shower, and sleep. Forget about grocery shopping or anything else.

 

The sweet and spicy smell of the Chinese food was almost making him nauseous and he shuffled a bit faster, his flat looming into his vision. Along with it came Gideon, approaching from the opposite direction. Gideon gave Draco a smile, which he returned with an inward groan. After the day he'd had, he was hardly feeling in the mood to carry on congenial conversation.

 

They met at the stairs and began to ascend them together, Gideon turning the key and holding the door open for Draco as he wrinkled his nose. "Take-out again, Drake? Don't tell me Harry's sick? Haven't seen him in a few."

 

 

Draco sighed heavily. "No, not sick. He's...not here."

 

"Oh no? He's come to his senses and run off with some rich bastard who really deserves him, hasn't he?" Gideon joked.

 

Draco felt his gut clench jealously at the thought and he grimaced.

 

"Oh...oh no!" Gideon exclaimed. "He hasn't really gone, has he? Jeeze, you know me. Open mouth, insert foot..."

 

Draco waved dismissively, managing to keep himself from falling against the wall and crying his eyes out. He looked at the landing above him and forced himself to keep climbing. "No. No, I mean, not really. Well, you know. I...sent him back home for a visit. He'll probably come back."

 

Gideon looked at him curiously. "Probably?"

 

"Yeah. Unless, you know. He..." Draco almost choked on his words. "Finds someone better back there."

 

"Oh, come off it." Gideon placated, thumping Draco so hard on the back he nearly dropped his take-away. He dug his fingers into Draco's neck and shook him in a way that Draco suspected was supposed to be friendly and reassuring. "The two of you are meant for eachother. He'll be back. I know it! Haven't you ever seen the way he looks at you? All love sick and puppy-faced. It's almost disgusting." Gideon grinned and abruptly turned off the stairs, heading down the hallway. "Come for dinner on Friday, and bring some containers. We'll send you home with left-overs. Mike'll just die when he hears you've been subsisting on take-out all week!"

 

Draco nodded. "Yeah, sure. Thanks." He wanted to refuse, wallow alone in his self pity, but he was too certain that his stomach and his wallet would thank him for accepting such an offer.

 

He continued up two more flights, but by the time he'd made it into his own flat, his appetite had gone missing. He tossed the bag of Chinese into the refrigerator and began to pull off his clothes on the way to thw shower. He stumbled over yesterday's trousers and nudged two pairs of socks aside before climbing into the narrow stall. If Harry didn't come back soon, he was going to have to find another flat. Everything in it reminded Draco of Harry. Harry had picked it, furnished and decorated it, and kept it neat and tidy. Over the past two years, the two of them had managed to fuck on or against nearly every flat surface available. Harry's blood and sweat and smell were embedded in almost every item. That alone should have been comforting, but instead served as a painful reminder of the emptiness of the place, of Draco's lonliness.

 

Draco cranked the spray up as high as it would go and let the water burn his skin an angry pink. It was a shitty penance and a piss-poor distraction, but pain had it's appeal to Draco. He only hoped Harry would be able to convince Granger of it.


	6. Chapter 6

Hermione flooed in to Harry's sitting room the way she had done every morning for the last week. Today was the first day she arrived to more than dim light filtering through dusty curtains. The light was on in the kitchen, and was accompanied by the sounds and smells of breakfast cooking.   
"Good morning, Harry." She smiled hesitantly as she peeked her head through the doorway. Harry had been less than kind to her since returning to England. He blamed her entirely for his current situation. 

 

Harry glanced up, then went about his work without greeting her. Hermione sighed. She really did have Harry's best interest at heart, even if he couldn't see it. She continued to stand in the doorway, watching him. Finally, he seemed to finish cooking. Harry spent a moment eyeing the magical stove as though he were looking for something, then snatched up his wand and put out the flames on the burners. His eyes flicked toward her. "Keep forgetting this blasted thing has no knobs. You want breakfast? Made too much."

 

"Sure, Harry." Hermione said carefully. 

 

He handed her a plate and then began to point at a myriad of dish-towel covered mounds on the countertop. "Blueberry scones, raspberry danish, treacle tart, cinnamon muffins. Er, I think that's french toast. And there's a florentine omelette in the pan there. Oh, and rashers in the oven." 

 

Hermione felt her eyes grow large. A giggle burst from her before she could contain it. "Hungry much?" 

 

"Not particularly," He answered with a shrug. "I couldn't sleep." 

 

"So you made enough food for the Welcoming Feast at Hogwarts?" Hermione asked, peeking under each towel before serving herself a small portion of nearly everything. There was no denying that Harry was a good cook. 

 

"Yeah, well. I like cooking." His tone was starting to get defensive again. 

 

"I know you do," Hermione replied, then stuffed a large piece of danish in her mouth before she said something that might hurt Harry. "Mmmm, this is good!" She said around a mouthful of food, spraying crumbs in a manner that reminded her of Ron and made her want to wince. 

 

Harry smiled tentatively and sliced the omelette neatly into quarters, taking one, and retrieving two slices of bacon from the oven. He nibbled delicately at one before dropping them onto his plate. "You're starting to emulate Ron. You'd better watch out, I heard some couples start to look like each other after awhile too." 

 

Hermione swatted him playfully on the arm as they headed toward the dining room. Situation diffused, she thought to herself. They settled down at the table, across from each other, and Harry ignored his plate in favor of rubbing his eyes. "You should go mattress shopping," Hermione offered helpfully, then popped another morsel of baked deliciousness into her mouth. "I'll bet every single one of them here is lumpy, moldy, or gross in other ways I can't imagine. They're so old..." 

 

"I doubt it would help." Harry said, beginning to push his food around his plate. 

 

"How can you say-" Hermione began then frowned. "Oh. Oh." 

 

"Yeah, oh." Harry grumbled. "It's lonely. And cold. And too bloody quiet." 

 

"Things will get better," Hermione promised, biting her lip. She was almost sure they would. 

 

Harry shrugged and lifted a forkful of eggs. "Yeah." 

 

When Hermione had cleaned her plate and gone, Harry double-checked to be sure he was alone. Then, he packed the majority of the sweets he'd baked, and shrunk them down with only slight difficulty. Remastering spells after three years of magical abstinence was touch and go. He almost wondered if his wand was angry with him for giving it up for so long. When he was ready, he took a deep breath, gripped his wand a little tighter and focused everything he had on France. So far, he'd made only small but successful pops around Grimmauld place, and hadn't even apparated anywhere in London proper. This was a big shot, but if Draco could apparate drunk and manage only a small splinch, then Harry should be alright. Right? 

 

Harry peeked his eyes open when his senses were assaulted by the sounds and smells of the bustling flea market around the corner from their flat. He was surprisingly pain-free and his limbs were intact. He dusted himself off and stepped from behind the large tent, urging himself not to break into a run. He arrived calmly at his flat, sure he had gone entirely unseen, and let himself in the door with his key. 

 

If he had been holding anything in his hands, he would have dropped it in shock. For a moment, he thought that their flat had been broken into, but only after reminding himself that the door was locked did he realize that the disarray was the effect if his absence. He picked up Draco's dirty clothes scattered in the hallway as he made his way toward the bedroom. He deposited them in the hamper before giving his hands a quick rinse and unpacking the baked goods he brought with him. A few quick swishes of his wand had the kitchen marginally tidied. He was already yawning sleepily, and when he fell into their bed, the smell of Draco filled his nose. He grabbed Draco's pillow, wrapped his arms around it, and snuggled down in the covers. 

 

Harry slept for three solid hours before waking with a start. The afternoon sunlight was streaming through the curtains and warming his face. He already felt refreshed from his nap, and was already considering how much better things would be after a full-night's sleep in his own bed. He made the bed and began packing Draco's clothes into the bag that he would drag to the laundromat down the street. There were far too many soiled articles to bother spelling them clean individually. When he had successfully set the machines, he wandered over to the market and picked up supplies for a simple dinner for them. He had just enough time to get everything prepared by the time Draco typically arrived home from work. 

 

While dinner was in the making, Harry busied himself with cleaning the flat to the best of his ability. Alexei was not kidding when he said that magic made everything easier for him. He had things looking in tip-top shape in less than half the time it would have taken him to do everything manually. Belatedly, he recalled their laundry, and cast a stasis charm on the soup pot before running down to switch Draco's clothes into the dryer. He returned with an armful of wet items that he hung up to dry in their small bathroom. 

 

The closer it got to six o'clock, the more antsy Harry became. His body vibrated with nervous energy and the floor squeaked under his jiggling foot. Draco had told him not to come back until everyone was sure that he was alright. He hadn't even made a public appearance yet, and his return to England had gone unnoticed by all but Hermione, Ron, and the Weasley family. But, what better way to display to Draco that there wasn't a damn thing wrong with him than by directly going against orders? Draco would be angry with him, and he would probably get a good thrashing. He shivered, and not entirely in horror at the thought. Harry briefly wondered if he should strip and wait by the door, with his head pressed to the floor the way he infrequently did if he had done something he thought he ought to be punished for. Better not, he decided, because then Draco would think for certain that there was something wrong with him. Why did everything in Harry's life have to be so complicated? 

 

By the time Harry heard the slap of feet coming up the stairwell, he was pacing back and forth in the kitchen, checking and rechecking the warming spell he'd put on dinner. The turn of the key in the lock had his heart thumping in his throat. He braced himself against the cabinet and watched, wide eyed as Draco slammed the door, then slogged into the bathroom, tossing his clothes carelessly behind him and grumbling to himself as he went. 

 

"What the-?" Draco said after a minute. He peeked his head out of the bathroom and frowning, stalked into the bedroom, only to promptly turn and make his way toward the kitchen. "Harry?" He said incredulously. 

 

Wordlessly, Harry slid forward, curling his arms around Draco's shoulders and burying his face into the curve of his slender neck. Draco returned his crushing embrace and then his hand was at the back of Harry's neck, tugging insistently, tipping his face up. Their lips met, and Harry was sure he had never felt more at home. They were warm and soft and all encompassing. Draco's kiss was authority and love and his embrace was comfort and safety. Together they owned him and he never wanted to be without that feeling again. 

 

"You're alright then?" Draco spoke into his mouth. 

 

Harry nodded. He was. He'd said so when this whole stupid ruse began.   
"Granger doesn't think I've done permanent damage?" 

 

Harry went silent, trying to think of a way to answer that. Of course she did. But it was Hermione, and she might be the brightest witch of their generation, but that didn't mean her knowledge was all encompasing and her opinions without flaw. 

 

Draco stiffened and pushed Harry to arms length. "She doesn't know you're here, does she?" And without waiting for Harry to answer, he went on. "Harry. It's only been a week. There's no sodding way...oh, Salazar! Fuck, Merlin, I'm a complete idiot. You shouldn't be here. You have to go, right now." 

 

Harry scowled and felt himself propelled toward the door. He braced his legs and leaned toward Draco, effectively stopping them. "God damn it! This is my home too. Stop shoving me and listen for a minute, will you?" Reluctantly, Draco straightened and folded his arms across his chest, nodding for Harry to go on. "Maybe you haven't noticed," Harry said. "But I look like shit. I feel like shit. I haven't slept more than a few hours all week. And I'm stuck in that big, old, unused cavern of a house by myself all day, with the exception of the times Hermione and Ron pop in to check on me. Without warning. Day and night. Thanks for that, by the way." He scowled and shoved his hair back. "I don't want to be there. All my friends from school have gone on with their lives. They have hobbies and careers, and some of them have even started families. And I have nothing. We don't have anything in common anymore." 

 

Draco sighed and slumped slightly. "Give it some time, Har, will you? You don't have any of those things because of me, and you should. You deserve them. Go out for drinks, lunch, go clubbing. Play cards, or...some of those horrendous Muggle games you always beat me over at Gid and Mike's. Have a 'Welcome Home' party. Go flying. Do something. Forget about me for awhile." 

 

Harry glared. "Why? Is that what you're doing here? Forgetting all about me?" 

 

"No, damn it," Draco said. His control slipped and he pulled Harry closer again, pressing small kisses to his cheeks and face. "I miss you. I can hardly get on without you...I shouldn't have said that, it'll probably destroy your progress, if you've made any, but of course you haven't, you're here, aren't you? I love you, you git." 

 

"You need me," Harry murmured, tucking his body back against Draco. "I know you do. This place was a mess when I got here-" 

 

"I'm busy," Draco bristled defensively. 

 

"I know, and that's exactly why you need me here." 

 

"I'll manage, Harry. I need to make sure you're alright first -- stop rolling your eyes at me. Have you seen a healer? Granger says you should see a healer." 

 

"No, I haven't," Harry said. "You've been talking with Hermione?" 

 

"A few times," Draco admitted. 

 

"You haven't responded to any of my owls," Harry scowled. 

 

"We're supposed to cease all contact. You can't exactly see the error of your ways if we're exchanging regular correspondence, keeping us tied to one another." 

 

"Everything happened so fast," Harry said. "I didn't even know it was coming, and you left me, and I just can't..." 

 

"Harry," Draco said softly. "You really should get back. You're prolonging this. Does anyone even know you're here?" 

 

"Of course not." Harry huffed, tightening his arms around Draco. "Let me stay for dinner, it's already ready. I made it, it's the least you could do after everything I did today." 

 

"I shouldn't," Draco said doubtfully. 

 

"Since when has that stopped you?" Harry planted tiny kisses along Draco's shoulder and neck, and Draco's head fell back in an accommodating manner born of habit. Harry was halfway down Draco's torso when he was yanked back to his feet. 

 

"Don't think that it is anything other that utter exhaustion on my behalf that let you get that far, you distracting, manipulative little --" 

 

"So, dinner?" Harry grinned. 

 

"Dinner." Draco said, pushing Harry away and crossing his arms over his chest. "And then you're going." 

 

"Yes, Master." Harry said softly. He sent a smoldering gaze at Draco. 

 

Draco scowled and flipped his hand dismissively at Harry. "I'm going to get dressed." 

 

Dinner was more awkward and strained than Harry could ever have imagined. While Harry would have been more than happy just to let things go back to their normal arrangement, Draco's discomfort at the situation reigned supreme. Every time Harry stirred to attend him, Draco leapt up in an effort to do it first, whether it was to reach for the salt himself, retrieve his linen from the floor, or serve dessert. There was a complete lack of conversation and their air was palpable with Draco's tension. The ouroboros in Harry's nipples had grown heavy, leaden, and freezing cold- a sure sign of Draco's displeasure. Harry found himself rubbing his nipples through his shirt, a futile attempt to warm them. 

 

"This was a bad idea, Harry." Draco finally admitted, pushing one of the pastries Harry had made that morning around on his plate. "You should go now. And it pains me to say it, but..." he glanced up at Harry then back down at his plate. "I'm going to re-set the wards so you won't be able to visit again." 

 

Harry swallowed thickly and didn't respond. 

 

"This is for your benefit. You won't ever get...I mean we won't know for certain if you don't stay away." 

 

"Well then," Harry stood rigidly, throwing his linen down onto the table beside his plate. "I'll just clean up and be on my way," 

 

Draco's fingers curled tightly around Harry's wrist when he reached to take Draco's plate. They were hot and his palm slick with sweat. It burned into Harry's skin. Their eyes met, and something dangerous passed between them. Draco scraped his chair back in a way that belied his upbringing, and was on his feet in an instant. "Damn it, Harry. Go home. Now, before I do something I'll regret." His voice cracked, and his fingers tightened as he gave Harry's hand a desperate shake. The plate clattered to the table top, wobbling several times before settling flat. 

 

"Fine. Fine." Harry jerked his arm free and turned on his heel. "I'm going." he snapped, marching toward the front door. "You want me gone? I'm gone." 

 

"Harry!" Draco called, but didn't appear to come after him. 

 

"Your laundry is down at Adele's Laverie." Harry said, remembering just as he got to the door. He paused for half a second, about to offer to pick it up before he left. But Draco just wanted him gone. He should have left without mentioning it. Let Draco scramble to find his unmentionables in the morning. But it wasn't in Harry to do so. Before Draco could respond, he went through the door, slamming it behind him. He fled down the stairs, nearly colliding with one of the other tenants . When the night air hit his face, he broke into a run. He dug the toes of his shoes into the concrete, pushing himself down the sidewalk at a break neck speed, and only when the stitch in his side was too painful to continue did he stop, catch his breath, then apparate home.


	7. Chapter 7

Ron wasn't sure why Hermione was dragging him out of bed this early on a Saturday morning, or why he was letting her, for that matter....well, only part of that statement was true. They were going to have breakfast with Harry, but it was the why that had him confused. Harry was a grown man, and surely he was growing sick of their ever-present...well, presence. Hermione stopped to visit him every morning before she left for work, and most nights on her way home, and she had Ron popping in during his lunch break, which was tiring for Ron. And he could see Harry's tolerance for being treated like a child incapable of caring for himself was quickly going downhill.

 

"Don't you think that, maybe," Ron postured, dragging on his socks from yesterday (they were on the floor next to him, whereas clean ones were across the room in the dresser), "Harry would like some alone time for once?"

 

Hermione cocked her head and quirked a brow at him, removing her toothbrush and swishing the foam in her mouth to one side. "Don't you fink he's wone-wy after being ho'd up wif Ma'foy all dis time?" Ron made a face at her and she went to spit. She was just as guilty of trying to have a conversation with toothpaste in her mouth as Ron was with food. "We're just being good friends. And besides," she returned wiping her face with a towel, "if he didn't want us there, he'd say so."

 

Ron gaped at her. "He has. I can't count the number of times he's told you to get out."

 

 

She waved her hand dismissively. "He's still mad about his situation. He needs someone to blame and if it has to be me, then I'm okay with that. He'll get over it and he'll be glad I was there for him."

 

Ron heard himself snort. He honestly hadn't meant to do that, out loud anyway. "What if you're wrong about this?"

 

"I'm not wrong!" She insisted, crossing her arms over her chest and adopting a posture that Ron recognized as her 'fighting stance'. "Everyone knows there are multiple stages of grief; the argument is five or seven, but they both recognize anger as one of the first stages. Honestly, Ronald..."

 

"Alright," he conceded, pushing himself off the mattress. It wasn't worth the argument and being in a strop when they got to Harry's. It would just make things even more tense between the three of them.

 

When they got to Harry's, he was bustling around in the kitchen, the way Hermione claimed he'd done for the past couple of mornings. There was something different about him, and it took Ron a moment to place what it was. Instead of the pressed trousers and button-ups he'd worn every time Ron had seen him for the past couple of years he was dressed in a pair of worn jeans and a Chuddley Cannon's t-shirt. His hair was poking up at the back instead of neatly slicked. He turned to them with a wide smile. "Hey you two! How'd you want your eggs?"

 

Hermione slotted Ron a smug look that said, 'I told you so' and he did his best to ignore her. "Over hard for me."

 

"Not that you have to cook for us, Harry. We brought a nice coffee cake. Didn’t I say we would, yesterday before I left?" Hermione interjected with another look at Ron.

 

"Sure," Harry said easily, turning back to the stove. "But you're guests and I like a nice, big fry-up in the morning anyway. Start your day off right, you know, like at Hogwarts.You having eggs, 'Mione?"

 

The way Harry was acting almost seemed forced. There was a slight stiffness to his posture, his smile seemed almost too wide, and the transformation from bitter and angry to normal was rather fast. Ron noticed tells like that, had been trained to look for them. But with Harry, he didn't know what to make of it. Maybe it was just that Harry was trying to move on and ignore the stupid shit that came out of Hermione's mouth – and let's face it, some of the things Hermione said of late were mind-numbingly insensitive and stupid... Not to mention that mastering the talent of ignoring Hermione's habit of speaking without stoping to consider others feelings did take a lot of practice. Ron should know, he'd been working on it for nearly a decade.

 

All in all, however, the morning hadn't gone so bad and Ron had been able to get them out of Harry's hair before lunch. Now, he and Hermione were taking what was supposed to be a leisurely stroll around the park. Once again, Hermione was going off on a tangent about Harry, his attitude, and his recovery.

 

 

"So, you're convinced then, that Harry is well on his way to getting over Draco?" Ron wasn't sure how he felt about it one way or another. He'd spent far too much time diffusing situations and listening to Hermione's theories than forming his own opinions on the matter.

 

"Of course. It was going to need some time, and at just over a week, I think he is making remarkable progress. I do think we should encourage him to get out more. "It certainly isn't doing him any good to be moping about in that over-sized shack."

 

 

"Maybe he needs a few days to himself to set himself to rights," Ron proposed.

 

"This is Harry we're talking about, Ron." Hermione tossed her hair over her shoulder as if that statement was the end of the conversation.

 

 

Several days later, Ron stopped by Harry's after work. When he floo'd in, the house was almost too quiet. "Harry?" He called up the stairwell.

 

"Here!" Harry's voice echoed down to him from the floor above.

 

Ron quickly ascended the stairs and was surprised to find Harry practically starkers, on his hands and knees as he scrubbed the bathroom floor with a white plastic brush. "Erm," Ron said, feeling his face start to heat up. "Hi there, Harry."

 

"Ron," Harry said by way of greeting and sat back on his heels.

 

"Er, forgive me for asking," Ron said, feeling sheepish. Merlin, but maybe Hermione was right about Harry after all. "Is there a reason you're scrubbing the floor...like that?"

 

"Yes," Harry replied coolly arching a brow. Merlin, but if he hadn't taken on some of Draco's most irritating mannerisms. "I didn't want to stain my trousers."

 

"Er, right." Ron said uneasily as he tried not to look at Harry anywhere below the waist, because he was covered in a scrap of fabric that looked like it was going to...no, no, best not to think about it, either.

 

"Did you forget you had a house elf?" Ron joked, ruffling the hair at the back of his head.

 

 

"No, I don't." Harry said, going back to scrubbing. "I sent him away."

 

"Sent him away?" Ron parroted stupidly.

 

"Yeah." Harry snapped and scrubbed harder. "Draco's place is a mess, a real, sodding mess. And I sent Kreacher to him, to help him out, because Draco is just too busy and shouldn't have to bother with shit like that. Cleaning and cooking. He has more important things to do, and he's going to be a brilliant apothecary...He fucking sent him back. Sent him back!" Harry shrilled, then dunked the brush in a nearby bucket and sat up again.

 

“You know Kreacher follows me around, sighing and muttering and putting things back the way they were before I moved them? I'm trying to clean and rearrange and get rid of some of the shit in here to keep myself occupied, because I am going stark raving mad holed up here, and with him around, I was just going in circles. So I sent him to Andromeda."

 

"Andromeda?"

 

"Yeah. You know, Andromeda Black? Draco's aunt. Kreacher was more than happy to be of service to the Black family again, pure bloods and all that. Good riddance. I heard she has a grandson on the way any day now. She could use the help anyway."

 

Ron stayed to chat with Harry for several more minutes but found that he quickly ran out of things to say while staring at the wall to avoid that weird feeling he got when he looked at Harry's naked body, which was way different, somehow, from the times he'd seen Harry's naked body in the locker rooms after Quidditch. He floo'd home instead and eventually got around to telling Hermione the news about Harry.

 

 

"Because God forbid he emancipated him," Hermione commented with a roll of her eyes.

 

"Not this again!" Ron grumbled as he fell back in his chair at the dinner table. "You know as well as I do that Kreacher has no interest in emancipation. I reckon most of the house-elves don't! You can't free them if they don't want to be! Most of them are happy in their positions. Merlin, Hermione!" Ron probed his eye sockets with his fingers. "Sometimes I swear you can't see the forest for the trees. You latch on to an idea and then you don't let it go! You're worse than a crup with a bone." After a moment of rubbing, he suddenly pulled his hands from his face and sat up straight, a look of horror on his face. "Merlin! Harry is a house-elf!"

 

 

Hermione pursed her lips briefly. "That isexactly what I have been saying to you for the last three years."

 

"You don't get it, do you?" Ron blinked at her. "Harry doesn't want to be 'free'!" He made the quotations with his fingers. "He gets some sort of satisfaction from what he does. Just like Kreacher, and half of the house-elves at Hogwarts who weren't interested in your offers of socks and scarves and hats. That's it! I don't get it, but that's it! 'Mione, you've got to leave him alone. Don't you see it?"

 

"No, Ronald, I don't 'see it'," Hermione said icily and crossed her arms over her chest. "This is our friend Harry that we're talking about. Defeater of Voldemort. Savior of the Wizarding World. Or did you forget? He's spent the last three years under Malfoy’s thumb and I, for one, refuse to believe that what they shared was healthy and normal. Don't you remember the day after we found him, the things Malfoy made him do? And I'm sure that wasn't nearly the worst of it! He was a slave, Ron. And there's something wrong with him now that he's free, that he wants to keep on being treated like that. And if you can't see that, then...then...then maybe you should go. You're not being supportive at all--"

 

Ron felt his eyebrows shoot up, and in an instant he was on his feet. "I am being supportive, Hermione. I'm supporting my friend Harry in a decision he is making for himself. I've said it before and I'll say it again – you need to check your priorities." He strode into sitting room and yanked his cloak from where he'd tossed it over an armchair. “Don't floo me until you get your head out of your arse. I'm sick of having this argumentwith you." He hastily grabbed a handful of powder from the urn beside the fireplace and threw it in, calling out his own address.

 

When he stumbled out of the floo, he turned to stare at it, expecting Hermione to come tumbling out after him. But the hearth was eerily silent. He felt his stomach sink and wondered what the hell he'd just done.


	8. Chapter 8

Dousing the flames, chapter 8 

 

For the first time in her life, Hermione was speechless. In a pique of anger she’d told Ron to leave, but he'd never gone when she'd done so before, and he certainly had never told her not to contact him. Did he just break up with her? Their tempers were equally matched and she was furious with him for even suggesting that things might be over between them. Well, if he wanted her to go charging after him, she wasn't going to. Ron was wrong about Harry, she just knew it. And he could come crawling back to her to apologize if he liked. She couldn't even fathom how Ron thought the there was nothing wrong with Harry wanting to be with Malfoy after everything he'd suffered at his hands.

 

With an eye roll, she stood and began to clear the remnants from their meal, which had been yet another round of takeaway. She was glad that Ron didn't seem to mind that they ate out so often but facts were facts, and Hermione Granger was no Molly Weasley. Nevermind that he hadn't spared a thought to helping her clean the detritus before storming off. Ron was a "mans' man", created by an overly doting mother whose concept of gender roles was too deeply ingrained to be reasoned with. She scoffed as she sorted the dishes and waste. If (and that was a big "if" at this point)she and Ron ever decided to settle down and have children, she certainly wasn't going to be raising any helpless girls, and the boys would do their share of household chores as well. And that was only if the stupid git got around to proposing to her in the first place. Hermione considered herself a forward woman, but she expected a minimal amount of wooing and romanticism in her life.

 

When Hermione got to Harry's house in the morning, she was not surprised to find him sitting at the expansive family table, staring morosely into his cup of tea. She wondered if his attitude yesterday had been an act for Ron's benefit or if he was having a bit of backslide after his progress. She plastered on a smile and crossed to him, planting a motherly kiss to his temple that he didn't bother to wipe away. "Morning, Harry," she said. Hermione didn't expect a reply. For the last week, Harry had just grunted and glared at her when his roller-coaster of moods peaked in a funk, like this. She went into the kitchen and poured herself a cuppa then joined him at the table.

 

 

Harry was now melodramatically slumped over it with his cheek pressed to the shining wood surface.

 

"Ron tells me you've sent Kreacher away." No response came from him and she blew across the top of her tea and then sipped it. "Perhaps now that you're truly alone, you'll give some consideration to going on an outing. If you'd rather not go alone, you're more than welcome to come to the grocers with me after work this afternoon." Harry's eyes shifted to her and Hermione was certain his look questioned her sanity. "I'll stop by to see if you change your mind, because I highly doubt that Ron will be ov--" She frowned as she began to wonder if she really truly knew Ron these days either, and Harry chose that moment to interrupt her.

 

.

 

"As if Kreacher was brilliant company. As if I haven't been truly alone all this time. Merlin, are you daft as well as blind? And I'm not going out. Fuck that."

 

"Alright, Harry. No need to get snippy, now." Hermione stood up. She couldn't do this today. Not with Harry in a mood to match her own. "I just thought maybe it would be nice for you to get out. Lift your spirits. Get some fresh air. I understand it will be difficult for you, having been cooped up for so long. But you really should consider transitioning back into society. It will help you move on," She went into the kitchen to dump her tea out and rinse the cup. "Of course, if you're afraid...that is more than understandable. We really should be looking for a therapist, and agoraphobia probably accompanies a number of cases of Stockholm Syndrome..."

 

"Are you out of your bloody buggering mind?" The sound of Harry's voice behind her made her jump. She hadn't realized he'd followed her into the kitchen.

 

"Sorry?" Hermione turned as she tipped her cup over into the drying rack.

 

"And here I thought you were just patronizing me all this time," Harry scowled. "But you're not, are you? You really have gone round the twist, haven't you? I'm not Agoraphobic. I'm not afraid of being outside of the house. Fucking hell, who do you think did all the shopping and laundering out there? I won't make you guess. It was me. I do know how to take care of myself as well as other people, and I don't just stumble around blindly following the orders of everyone who gives them! I'm not a brainless idiot. Je parle couramment français." He said with a clipped French accent before gutturallygrowling, "Eu vorbesc limba Româna! I'm not the person you remember, and there's nothing fucking wrong with me!" He advanced toward her and she stepped back almost unconsciously. "I know you exchange owls with Draco."

 

 

Hermione felt her mouth open slackly and there was no time to shake her head.

 

"Don't lie to me, I know you do. He told me. I went to see him and he told me so, right before tossing me out on my arse and re-setting his wards so I wouldn't be able to return. I can't sleep in my own goddamn bed, in the apartment that I picked out because you've got some deluded idea of what went on behind the closed doors of two consenting adults and you've managed to put doubts in the head You’ve managed to put doubts into the head of the only person who really knows me. Do you think you know me?" Harry exploded, and Hermione shrank away from him.

 

 

"I thought I did," Hermione heard herself say in a very small voice.

 

"Hogwarts was four years ago, and you've seen me a handful of times since then," Harry snorted. "Maybe it's time you did some field research instead of keeping your damn nose stuck in books all of the time. Or better yet, keep your nose out of other people's business altogether!"

 

 

Hermione really could not deal with this attack after what had happened yesterday with Ron. Her eyes watered and she looked askance before slipping away from the counter behind her. She cut a wide path around Harry. "Alright. I'm sorry."

 

"Do I seem broken to you, Hermione? Do I seem like I'm beaten down and cowed? Is this how you think a brainwashed slave acts?" He took a number of quick steps toward her and she hurried toward the hearth.

 

"Don't, Harry! I can't...I won’t...I'm only concerned about you, but I'll just go...now...and if you need something from me, you, ah, know where to find me." She fumbled with a handful of powder, nearly backing into the floo before she even tossed the powder in. But somehow she managed to do everything in the right order, and soon the familiar whirling sensation ended and she was falling out in the quiet sanctity of her own apartment. She quickly reached forward and shut the floo, preventing him from following after if he was so inclined.

 

It took a while for her heart to stop thumping in her throat, and even longer for her to collect herself and firecall into work. After being rebuffed twice in less than twelve hours, she needed a personal day. It pained her to admit it, but maybe the two boys were right. Maybe she was in over her head. Maybe it was time for her to butt out of Harry's life. She just hated to think that there was a possibility that Harry was under Malfoy's spell. They never had a reason to trust Malfoy before. Why would she do so now? He would have to prove himself to her before she ever could accept him as Harry's partner. But how?

 

Hermione was feeling overwhelmed and she was still upset at the way Harry had loomed over her, so threatening. That wasn't the Harry she knew at all! He was right, he had changed, and she hadn't much at all. She still thought of herself as a bright witch, a forever student, a seeker of knowledge, a defender of injustices. Maybe that was the problem. Everyone else had changed, and she had remained the same. Was that even possible? Full of self-doubtand feeling alone and unloved, Hermione sank onto her modest sofa and cried for the first time in years. Hot tears splashed down her cheeks and soaked into the upholstery. She sobbed until her chest ached from the effort and she was breathless and tired. Then, she slipped into a fitful slumber until Crookshanks clambered between her shoulder blades and yowled loudly, protesting the fact that she was occupying the one spot in the living room that was privvy to the lone ray of sun beaming through the window. She sat up with a sniffle and wiped at her eyes. Even Crookshanks wasn't satisfied with her today...

 

 

Men! She thought she might possibly be through with them all.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Keri87 for her beta work. She read and edited this chapter 47,000 times and the credit is as much hers as it is mine.

Harry's mood had grown so foul and dark over the last couple of days that he was starting to bother himself. After stewing for half the morning, he realized he hadn't gotten off in over a week. All that pent up testosterone was possibly contributing to his attitude, and he decided that if he couldn't get laid, the next best solution was his own two hands.

 

Harry charged up the stairs and flung his bedroom door open with a newfound enthusiasm. He hopped onto his bed and accio'd his lube then vanished his clothes with a clumsy wave of his wand. He tossed the wand aside and then waited until his breathing slowed, reminding himself that he had all the time in the world to wank and that there was no reason to rush it. Harry smoothed his hands up and down his torso a few times before letting his fingers work toward his chest. Hooking his thumbs through the ourbouros, he gave them a hearty tug, then repositioned his fingers to twist and twirl them. At his urging, his nipples perked and budded, aching under his intentional assault.

Harry released the right nipple ring and let his hand dance back down his body, pinching himself erratically as he went. When his right hand made it to the juncture of his thighs he let his fingertips hover, feeling the heat radiating from his organ, which was making its interest known, and none too slowly. He dug his blunt fingernails into his thigh and raked them upward, arching and hissing at the sensation.

Next, he trailed his fingers into the crease of his leg and feathered them over his burgeoning erection, thumbing his slit to draw out a bead of pre-come. As he painted the moisture back down his length, his hips bucked involuntarily and Harry gasped. He wrapped his fingers around the base of his cock and squeezed tightly. No need to rush, he thought again. It's better when you draw it out.

With his free hand, he pinched each of his nipples into hard peaks then began to fondle his balls, drawing them apart, then back together until they drew up tightly against his body. Harry's ragged breathing echoed in his own ears and there was an empty ache nagging inside of him. He paused his ministrations and rolled off the bed, padding quickly to his trunk, which was still packed, and withdrew a pot of lubricant. He returned to the bed, slicking his fingers as he went, then shoved the lube aside. He clambered onto the mattress on his knees, then slid his fingers into the crack of his arse. He let his first two fingers lazily circle the furl of skin at his entrance until it blossomed open of its own accord and the heat from his inner walls sucked at them. Only then did he allow his fingers to plunge knuckle deep. His other hand curled into the sheets and wanton moans escaped him as he repeatedly prodded his prostate. "Oh, Salazar, fuck, yes!" Harry exclaimed as his hips shimmied. He slowed his plunder momentarily while he rearranged himself on his back, legs braced against his headboard as to give him better purchase for thrusting.

After another vicious twist to the ourboros, he began to fist his cock in earnest, feeling a growing heat begin to pool in his belly. He was close already and, despite wanting to draw it out, there was another part of him that was eager for release. Harry scissored his fingers before adding a third, grunted, and began to thrust faster.

Several minutes later, Harry's legs were beginning to shake and he was certain that the next stroke was going to be the one to push him over the edge. When it wasn’t, then perhaps the next one was it, or the next or the next. "Come, damn it!" He commanded himself. He was almost there, he knew it, could feel it. The muscles in his legs and stomach were strained, quaking, aching. He deliberately clenched and unclenched the muscles in his arse, trying to start a chain reaction. But, of course, that didn't work. Harry dug his heels into the duvet and lifted his hips and lower back off the mattress, renewing his efforts until the sweat was rolling into his eyes and his biceps were cramping and seizing. He was desperate for release, but it seemedlike it was just beyond reach. For a moment, he thought about throwing in the towel, then rolled his eyes so hard that it almost hurt. He was a young man in the prime of his life. He was not going to give up on attaining gratification because it was taking a little longer than usual. There wasn't anything physically wrong with him, and he'd done nothing but lounge around Grimmauld place since he'd been here. He couldn't blame it on physical exertion or stress, and it wasn't like he couldn't get it up...he just couldn't...finish.

Harry realized after some time that the skin of his cock was beginning to feel raw and abraded. He slumped back against the bed and his hand slowed, stroking the bell-end of his cock softly with just his fingers to keep himself hard but giving up on the punishing pace he'd been keeping. He began to wonder if he was too used to things being drawn out, if he had pushed himself too hard and too fast toward orgasm. But that sounded almost stupid. No, something was missing. Draco is missing he thought bitterly. If Draco was here, what would he do? Harry closed his eyes and let himself imagine.

He'd be sitting over there, thumbing himself through his trousers. "Not so fast, Pet. Do you think you deserve to come yet? Get your fingers out of that greedy hole. That's mine."

Harry's fingers slid out from between his legs almost too quickly and he groaned again. "Yours," he said aloud. It helped his fantasy if he played along this way.

"That's right," Draco's eyes would narrow as he nodded at Harry. "Get those nipples good and sore. That's the way you like it, my little pain slut."

"Yes, yes, yes," Harry returned his attentions to his nipple rings in earnest, pulling them upward so hard he had to lift his back off the mattress or risk tearing flesh. Finally, he fell back panting, angling his head and eyeing the red and tender skin around his bruising nubs.

"Now stroke yourself, slowly," Draco commanded as he inched forward, settling beside Harry on the mattress but not touching him. 

"Mmmm," Harry sighed, dragging his fingers down his shaft, circling his balls, pressing into his perineum before allowing them to slide back up.

Draco was nodding at him as he took down his own zipper and pushed his trousers down around his hips. His erection sprang free, pink and straining and framed by a tuft of coarse golden curls. Draco's pace matched Harry's own: painfully slow and teasing. "Open your mouth, Harry." 

Harry sucked three of his fingers into his mouth, stretching his jaw wide and laving at them. He picked up his pace again, and soon found himself on the precipice of orgasm. His muscles were locked and shaking, and he was straining toward it. The lube was sticking and the skin on his cock was beginning to chafe from his rough handling. It wasn't enough. He only had two hands and he craved, perhaps needed, more stimulation at once. With a dissatisfied groan, he pushed himself away from the bed a second time and returned with his trunk, digging through it for a number of items. Harry tossed a vibrating plug on the mattress and a silicone cock-sleeve soon followed it. Nipple clips dangled from a chain haphazardly wrapped around his fingers, but Harry kept shoving sex toys aside until he found the weights to attach to the chain. If his body was looking for abuse, he wouldn't delay it any longer. The last thing he withdrew before kicking the chest to the base of the mattress was a gag shaped like a short, stubby penis. It was no Draco, but it would do. It had to.

The first thing Harry did was stretch his mouth around the gag. It had a buckle but he didn’t fasten it, letting the straps dangle on either side of his head instead. Then, he attached the nipple clips and weights, moved to his fours and set the weights swinging. If only his arse was more sore ...he hadn't had a good spanking in weeks, come to think of it. Harry forced a gust of air through his nose and shook his head, then gave himself several awkward stinging swats with his own hand. It wasn't great, but it would have to do. As he worked the plug into his hole, he realized how depraved this was all going to look if Ron or Hermione decided showed up looking for him at this moment. Briefly he thought about putting everything away and going back about his business, but then he decided he was already over-committed anyway. Fuck them, he needed this. Finally, the plug slid into place with a pop, and Harry pressed the button to set it vibrating, cranking it up to the highest setting right away. He didn't need the foreplay, he'd been at this for over an hour and at this point, all he wanted to do was come. It was no longer about the wind up, he was more than ready to finish. As his hips began to buck, he tucked his cock into the sleeve, designed to mimic the suction of a blowjob and began to work it. His body swayed, keeping the weights dragging at his nipples in motion, and the heat coiled in his belly began spreading quickly downward.

"That's right, take it. Stuffed full with two cocks, and neither of them are mine...you filthy, naughty slag. If only your friends could see you now. You want to come? Do you think you deserve to come?" Draco's lip curled as he sneered.

Harry sobbed and nodded to himself, keening around the gag. Please! 

"Alright, my pet. You're right. You’ve worked so hard for this. Come....come on Pet. Come for me. Come."

Harry's movements became more frantic and erratic and, with a muffled cry, he finally, finally came! It wasn't the most mind-shattering orgasm he'd ever had, pretty far from it actually, but he was close to sobbing just in relief that it was all over. He was tired, aching inside and out, and had just spent the better part of an afternoon on the pursuit of an elusive orgasm. He was glad that it was still physically possible, he'd begun to wonder if there was something wrong with him after all. But he missed Draco taking the reins, guiding him there, helping him walk the line between pain and pleasure.

He kept thrusting into the sleeve until he was twitching and over-sensitive, then collapsed face first on the mattress before reaching back to turn the plug off. He laid there until he regained his breath and the stickiness of his spunk was more than he could bear, and only then did he get up and begin removing all the props from himself. He carried them into the bathroom and as he was washing the toys in the sink, a thought struck him.

Is this what he was going to have to do every time he wanted a toss? Fuck-fuckity-fucking fuck! That was a lot of bloody work. Hermione or Ron would think him depraved. And despite his fantasy, he wondered what Draco would think. Maybe he would say it was proof that Harry was fucked up all along. It was one thing to fantasize while wanking. It was another thing to use a toy to give you a hand. And it was another beast entirely if he required not one or two but four sex toys and a daydream of submitting to his former dom just to have a mid-day orgasm.

Harry let the toys fall haphazardly into the sink and gripped the edge. He bowed his head and shook it. Fuck. Fuck. Maybe Hermione was right after all. Harry needed help. And he was going to get it. Right after he took a shower. And threw together some lunch, because after that sodding marathon, he was hungry.


	10. Chapter 10

Draco was crouched on the sofa, slurping instant ramen noodles out of a styrofoam container as he scanned the Muggle weekend paper that he'd nicked from Gideon the day before. He was momentarily startled when someone knocked on his door. The fork hovered in mid-air as he called, "Allez-vous en!" Go away. He wasn't feeling like company tonight and he thought it was probably Mike beating down his door, wanting to drag him off to some gay Muggle club to cheer him up. The knock came again, more persistent this time, and Draco scowled, shoving his food carton onto the coffee table. As he tromped toward the door, he hiked his trousers up around his waist. He hadn't bothered with a belt because it was the weekend, but his pants now sagged far lower on his hipbones than they used to.

 

The knock sounded a third time and Draco let out an exasperated huff. "For fuck's sake, I'm coming, you annoying ar-" As he yanked open the door, the insult died on his lips. His jaw fell open slightly and he blinked at the unexpected visitor on his doorstep. "Alexei?"

 

"Sir," The corners of Alexei's lips pulled up slightly and he sent him a sloe-eyed look.

 

Draco was dumbstruck for a moment and frowned. "What are you doing here? Is...is everything alright?"

 

"May I?" Alexei all but purred, indicating the interior of the apartment with a delicate arch of his chin and a slightly quirked brow.

 

"Of course." Draco stepped back and allowed the other man admission. "Forgive me. I wasn't expecting you..." Alexei slunk past him with all the grace of a kneazle on the prowl, and Draco turned to watch the supple movement of his limbs. Then, he saw past the gypsy into his living room and felt a flush immediately blossom from his collar bone and heat his cheeks. "I wasn't expecting anyone," He clarified with a not-so-subtle clearing of his throat. "I apologize for the mess," He began awkwardly.

 

Alexei gave a wave of indifference and paused at the end of the hallway, twisting to look back at Draco. "I'm not...interrupting anything?"

 

"No, not at all," Draco replied graciously.

 

Alexei's nostril's flared slightly. "Your dinner, perhaps, Sir?"

 

Draco snorted. "If you can call it that." As he neared Alexei, he placed one hand on the small of his back and indicated the living room with a sweep of his hand. If the living room was disgusting, the kitchen was abominable. "Please. Make yourself at home. Then tell me what's brought you to my ...humble abode. Is everything alright with Blaise and...Astoria?"

 

Alexei hummed as he chose the battered recliner that would put him at Draco's elbow. When Draco had reseated himself, Alexei licked his lips. "Of course, Master Blaise and the mistress are well. You know they are expecting at the end of the month, I am sure."

 

Draco was aware that they had conceived, but didn't realize that the due date was upon them. Nevertheless, he nodded and gestured for Alexei to go on.

 

"I have loyally served Blaise for almost five years now..." Alexei stated matter-of-factly, then glanced down at his hands. "I have been happy to provide companionship and my usual services up to this point. However, I am not inclined to perform maid service and diaper duties. In light of that, we have all decided that it was best if the mistress took a nursemaid and Master Blaise plays the role of doting father and husband."

 

"Well, no one could blame you for that," Draco murmured in agreement. "We are not all so....family oriented. It is sad that you have decided to part ways, though. The two of you were rather a good match."

 

"Three of us," Alexei responded almost absently. Then he shot a grin at Draco. "I was surprised myself, that I took such a liking to the mistress, and I will miss her. But as you said, not all of us are so inclined...."

 

When Alexei trailed off, his eyes began to wander the room. Draco cleared his throat again, then reached for what was left of his dinner. "So you've stopped by for a visit before you go on to your next prospect? I regret to inform you that Harry... ahem, Harry is not currently residing with me. He would have rather liked to see you again."

 

Alexei's black eyes slid back and locked with Draco's. "I'd heard." He said cautiously. "That's why I'm here, you see." He leaned back in the recliner, perching his forearms regally on the arm rests. "Before I made other arrangements, I thought perhaps we would be able to work something out....Here I am, master-less, and you...well, forgive me for saying so, Master Draco, but clearly you could use my services, no?"

 

"Ah, I see now." Draco said carefully. He put the recently untouched noodles back on the coffee table. His eyes fixed on the corner of the table as he weighed his options and his words.

 

"Alexei..." Draco sighed. A cold ball was forming in the pit of his stomach -- something about the way this situation was shaping up felt wrong. "I do thank you for your consideration, but...no. I..." Draco licked his lips. "I can't afford to pay you, you see. Really, not a knut. It's a stretch just for the rent, and thank Merlin for magic because otherwise, the utilities..."

 

Alexei's smile faded slightly and he crossed on leg over the other. "I am certain that we could work something out. At least in the short term?" He looked at his fingernails a moment, then carded the same hand through his long, glossy black locks. "You can provide a roof, and a meal or two? You know what I have to offer," He licked his lips again, and this time the gesture was lascivious. "Just until I can find someone else."

 

Draco felt the tips of his ears start to burn and there was a stirring interest south of his belt. "I...I...I..." Draco heard himself stammer. When had he lost his poise, and had he ever had control of this conversation? "What about your family? Wouldn't you rather visit them?"

 

An olive-skinned hand waved casually. "They are happy as long as I send a check once a year to help with the little ones. The Zabini household has been very generous to me, and did not require me to repay the pro-rated sum for my unfulfilled service, so I am already ahead of the game, as they say." Alexei climbed to his feet and cleared away Draco's noodles. "A trial period. You will not be disappointed. And now, I cook your dinner, properly." He wrinkled his nose in disdain at the instant meal Draco had barely managed to prepare for himself. "Forgive me for saying so, Master Draco, but you look terrible, and it's no wonder. Men like yourself weren't meant for greatness and domesticity, both."

 

Draco slumped backward on the couch, posture be damned. "There's only the one bed," He heard himself say lamely.

 

It seemed that Alexei put an extra saunter in his step and he tossed a saucy smile over his shoulder as he clearly mistook the warning as an offer. "I don't mind sharing."

 

Draco frowned but said nothing. That wasn't what he meant. He shouldn't feel so strangely about the idea of sharing his bed with Alexei. He'd done so numerous times in the past, but then, that had been before Harry and he were...what were they? Nothing currently. But that wasn't true. They were still something, weren't they? 

 

Despite Draco's initial misgivings about having Alexei over, he was enjoying the companionable chatter and was feeling less lonely than he had in weeks. Not to mention the meal he'd prepared was delicious and filling. And, despite Draco's protests, Alexei was already taking care of Draco's least favorite chores – sweeping and mopping the floor and cleaning the bathroom. It wasn't until Draco was ready to retire for the night that his discomfort returned. As he stripped at the foot of the bed, he was acutely aware of Alexei's presence. He tried not to return the young man's gaze and slid under the covers on his side of the bed, retracting his body to the far edge of the mattress. Alexei crawled onto the foot of the bed then struck a pose Draco knew was meant to catch his attention. 

 

In the darkness, Alexei's silhouetted chest dipped low and his pert rump lifted skyward. "Is there anything else I might be able to take care of for you, Master Draco?" he purred.

 

Draco's eyes flickered over the prone form before him. Then, he pressed the heel of his palm against his burgeoning erection and turned his back on the tempting gypsy. "Not tonight," He grumbled. "M'tired." He clenched his eyes shut and told himself that was true. He was glad Alexei had taken up perch at the foot of the bed. Harry had slept by his side for so long that Draco had forgotten that was Alexei's usual spot; where many slaves who were allowed to share the bed with their masters slept. A pang of guilt hit him and he cleared his throat. "Lexi," He said, half sitting up.

 

Alexei had just been curling down to sleep and lifted his head, sounding hopeful. "Yes, Master?"

 

"I can make up the couch for you if you prefer...that is, if you'd rather sleep alone, stretch out, get comfortable..."

 

"If it pleases my Master," Despite the darkness, Draco could practically hear the smirk in Alexei's words. 

 

Draco shuddered. Hearing those words from someone other than Harry felt wrong. "Don't. Alexei..." He sighed and rubbed his face as he fell back onto the mattress. "I'm so tired." And this time he meant it. But he was more than tired, he was weary. Luckily, Alexei didn't give him any more cheek, and Draco drifted off to sleep with his knees curled tightly to his chest.

 

Draco slept poorly, tossing and turning most of the night. He was acutely aware of Alexei's presence at the foot of the bed and it was making him uncomfortable. Finally, exhaustion kicked in and he fell into a deeper cycle of sleep. It was hard to tell how long he had been dreaming; it could have been hours or minutes, and when he awoke, Harry's name was on his lips.

 

He tried to chase the fleeting images of Harry in his brain, but they were gone too quickly. He sighed and laid still a moment, then reached for the pillow he had been frotting against in his sleep. His fingers grazed silky hair instead of a pillowcase and clenched into the locks almost involuntarily. Draco lifted his hips, shoving his erection toward what he now recognized as a body between his legs. "Hmmm, Harry," he sighed in satisfaction as a warm mouth suctioned the skin of his inner thighs and a nose affectionately nuzzled the length of his shaft.

 

As a long ribbon of hair slid between Draco's fingers, he realized with a jolt of horror that the person behind the pleasurable on-goings between his legs was not Harry, and was in fact, Alexei. He shoved the gypsy aside and scrambled out of bed so quickly that he almost tangled in the sheets and landed on the floor.

 

"Something wrong?" Alexei looked up from beneath his heavily fringed lashes, trying to affect innocence.

 

Draco couldn't form words, and after a minute of opening and closing his mouth, he simply shook his head and fled from the bedroom to the patio.

 

It was some time before Alexei joined him and Draco pushed himself into the corner against the tomato plants just to put more room between them. 

 

Alexei shook his head and smiled with what seemed to be amusement as he held out a steaming mug of tea to Draco. "I didn't realize things were like that between you. Why didn't you just say so? You make me feel like I have betrayed your trust and my friendship with Harry. You have changed, Master Draco..." He must have caught Draco's grimace, for he smiled almost sadly and said next, "You're right. You are master only of one. I think, perhaps, I might travel to see my sister after all. Maybe she will take me in for a while. Thank you, Sir, for your hospitality." He nodded with his head toward the apartment. "There's breakfast under a charm on the counter, if you're hungry. I won't be a minute in gathering my things."

 

As Alexei turned stepped back inside, Draco pushed himself to his feet to follow him. "Do you think it’s hopeless?" He asked, unable to meet the gypsy's eyes. "Do you think I'm silly for wanting him back?"

 

"I think," Alexei returned kindly, "that if he's cultivated this reaction in you of all people, he's worth waiting for, chasing after, whatever it is you lovesick and silly, romantic wizards do these days." His smile was a flash of white teeth. "I wish you happiness, Draco." He squeezed Draco's forearm affectionately.

 

"Thank you," Draco breathed, beginning to feel silly for the way he'd acted since Alexei had arrived, but too relieved that the gypsy was going to do much else. "You too. I hope you find what you are looking for."

 

"I will," Alexei said confidently. He strolled into the bedroom where he had left a trunk of belongings. He shrunk it and placed it into his pocket as Draco watched from the hallway. "Thank you again. And I am sorry, for what it's worth."

 

"My fault," Draco said, patting him on the back as he walked him to the door. "You'll have to come again, when..." He let his sentence trail, because nothing was certain any more.

 

Nevertheless, Alexei filled in the blanks. "When Harry's here again. I will; you can bet on both counts." He winked and slipped out the door. When it latched, Draco let himself slide down the wall and put his head in his hands, wondering when that day would come. Whenever it was, it couldn't be soon enough.


	11. Chapter 11

It was a Saturday night and Ron was aimlessly puttering around his flat. It had been nearly two weeks since his argumentwith Hermione and, other than one incidental and incredibly awkward/stony run-in at the Ministry, he hadn't seen her once. For the past year or so they’d had a standing "doubles" night with Luna and Neville on the third Saturday of every month. Earlier that day, he'd owled to cancel. He couldn't be sure whether or not Hermione had done the same, but he just didn't feel right asking whether or not she would be there. It wasn't fair to Nev and Luna to drag them in to their affairs; the two of them were too sweet and might end up trying to reconcile them. Ron just wasn't ready to give up the fight. For far too many years, he'd tucked his tail between his legs and set aside his pride after a row and gone back, offering an apology whether he thought he should provide one or not. His father had clued each and one of the Weasley boys in on a little secret; the fastest, easiest and best way to keep a woman happy was to beat her to the apology, no matter which party was at fault. This time, however, Ron was going to let her stew. Hermione was wrong about Harry and if she was going to be pigheaded and stubborn, then she could be the one to apologize when she came around for once.

 

After an uncountable number of laps around his living room, Ron's eyes landed on his Wizard's Chess board, shrunken to keep it out of the way, and covered with a fine layer of dust. It was tragic, really. Since Hogwarts, Ron had hardly been able to convince anyone to sit down for a game. No one had the time or patience it seemed, Harry had been gone, and Neville lacked the interest and skill. In fact, the only person who had been up for the challenge recently was Malfoy...

 

Ron enlarged the set and cast a quick cleaning charm. He polished a few pieces against his shirt until one of the knights stabbed him in the belly and drew a thin line blood. Ron laughed. He knew better than to do that, but sometimes he liked to get them riled up before a game. They took out their aggressions on the opposing team with an unmatched ferocity. He set up the board, initially planning on playing both sides himself. But the more he thought about the last game he'd played in Malfoy's small living room in France, the more he thought about contacting the wizard for a game. It was silly, wasn't it? Malfoy wasn't his friend. He was Harry's...er, something. Lover. Yeah, that sounded alright. 

 

The animosity that Ron and Malfoy had harbored in school had long ago been replaced by something less hostile and, over time, less strained even. It would be a stretch to call it friendship, but Ron was willing to bet that Malfoy was just as lonely as Harry was. Right, Harry... For a moment, Ron reconsidered his burgeoning plan to invite Malfoy over for the evening in favor of Harry. But he'd seen Harry Wednesday night, and he was making an effort not to smother him. Right. So, Malfoy then...

 

Ron wrinkled his nose as he looked around his flat, pointing his wand this way and that, cleaning up the obvious offenses. I am not cleaning up for Malfoy. Ron told himself that he was simply taking care of his flat the way he would for any of his friends. He checked the icebox and found that he did indeed have a few brews left, then wrote a hasty letter of invitation which he sent through the floo to a Wizards pub about ten kilos from Malfoy's place. For a small fee, they would send an owl out to Malfoy and take care of the response, if there was one. It was the fastest way they'd found to communicate with Harry at Malfoy's place, since they lived in a Muggle building with no communal floo. After all this time, Ron was still getting used to the idea of Malfoy in a Muggle building. The very thought made him smile. 

 

Ron had instructed Malfoy to respond only if he wanted to decline, and otherwise just to pop on over. Just short of an hour had passed and Ron was beginning to wonder if he'd paid the French bar enough when there was a knock at his door. He hauled himself off the sofa and pulled the door open. 

 

Malfoy was standing on the stoop, looking slightly unnerved and rubbing one hand against the back of his head, standing the hair up. He jerked his hand away and flushed slightly, then stiffly held out a bottle of wine. "Brought this," he said unnecessarily. 

 

Ron grinned at the absurdity of the situation and how awkward this was panning out to be. "Thanks," He nodded and beckoned Malfoy inside then gestured vaguely at the living room. "I'll get you a glass...m'gonna have a lager...unless you want one too?"

 

"Er..."

 

"Relax, Malfoy. It's not a dinner-date and I'm not going to rake you over the coals. I fancied a game of chess and you're the only...er, worthy opponent I could think of. Lager? I'll get you a lager." Ron went into the kitchen and returned as promised, handing over the bottle and sprawling unceremoniously in one of the chairs he'd set up at the playing table. "What, are you waiting for, an invitation? Sit," he said. "I don't do that poncy ,formal etiquette,in case you hadn't noticed."

 

"Wanker," Malfoy snorted and perched on the edge of the seat, leaning forward to examine Ron's playing set.

 

For a brief moment, Ron felt self-conscious about the quality of his gaming pieces, but he reminded himself that Malfoy's lifestyle was currently more destitute than his own, and he wasn't in a position to be judgemental about the quality of...well, pretty much anything Ron had. He twisted the cap off his lager, took a healthy swig, then let loose an audible sigh. "Ready to get trounced, Malfoy?"

 

"Not likely," Malfoy said, weaving his fingers together and cracking his knuckles. He arched a brow at Ron. "Guest choses sides?" He didn't wait for a confirmation. "White. I go first. Knight to G6..."

 

Four hours, three rounds of chess, the rest of the beer in his fridge, and half a bottle of wine later, things were getting interesting. Ron was re-enacting one of his more recent cases in the middle of the living room and Malfoy was sprawled on the floor beside the couch, laughing so hard that he was nearly crying. He pounding his fist into one of the cushions as he laughed and then he leaned forward and slurred, "Sweet S'lazar, he did not! Oh Gods, whaa--at?"

 

Ron paused in the midst of his epic story-telling and grinned down at Malfoy, who had finally loosened up enough to be enjoyable. His voice rocketed in pitch with his excitement and, combined with his running commentary on Ron's tale...well, it was rather endearing...er, in a totally masculine and friendly way of course. He was just about to tell Malfoy how impressed he was that the man was capable of not being a prat for twenty solid minutes and inquire as to whether or not that was a new record when his floo-bell rang.

 

"Ron?" Hermione's voice came through and before he could move in front of the hearth to see her, he heard, "Oh my God, Malfoy, is that you?"

 

Malfoy cleared his throat and he appeared to sober instantly. "Granger."

 

As Hermione's eyes narrowed, Ron stepped between Malfoy and the floo. "Hermione," he greeted her in an even tone.

 

"Harry isn't there, is he? You're notenabling them, are you?"

 

Ron rolled his eyes and didn't care if she saw. He didn't give her the satisfaction of an answer. "Did you want something, then?"

 

"What is Malfoy doing there?"

 

"Having a lager and playing some chess. I didn't know I needed your permission for that." Ron crossed his arms over his chest.

 

"Don't be crass, Ronald. And that looks like a wine glass to me,"

 

Ron shrugged. "We finished the beer. Did you have a point?"

 

Hermione huffed. "I wanted to talk to you. But if you've got company..." She pressed her lips together and looked pointedly at Malfoy.

 

"Yep, company." Ron agreed quickly. "Suppose you'll have to try me again another time."

 

Hermione looked upward, then to the side. She bit her lip, then nodded. "Good night then,."

 

"Night," Ron echoed, then shut the floo before the green flames died down.

 

"Er, sorry if I caused-" Malfoy started to mumbled.

 

"You didn't," Ron interjected. "We had it out a few weeks ago. This is the first time she's come sniffing around since then. If she was going to apologize, it was ruined by the way she treated you. She can try me again another time, and if not..." He shrugged.

 

Malfoy's eyes widened. "I thought the two of you were ready to get married and up the duff any time now," 

 

"Yeah, well..." Ron took hold of the wine bottle by the neck and swigged. "I'm rather sick of the know-it-all thing. And she's been a right cunt to Harry. So..."

 

"To Harry?" Malfoy's eyes narrowed and he glared toward the floo. "She was supposed to watch out for him, help him,"

 

"Oh, she is." Ron said, flopping on the couch and offering the bottle to Malfoy before swigging again. "I just don't know that I agree with it."

 

"With what, exactly?"

 

"There's nothing wrong with what you and Harry do. You want him and he wants you?" He waved a hand carelessly. "Fine, whatever. Do it. I don't need to hear about it, but go right ahead and get your rocks off.

 

Malfoy's eyebrows just about disappeared into his hairline. "You think?"

 

"Said so, didn't I?"

 

Malfoy fell quiet for a few minutes, studying the fibers in the carpet while worrying his lip with his teeth. "What if you're wrong?" He finally asked quietly.

 

"Yeah?" Ron asked, finishing the wine and wiping a trickle away from his cheek with his arm. "But what if I'm not?"


	12. Chapter 12

It had taken three therapist appointments to establish that Harry had not had a normal childhood with the Durseley's and Harry was beginning to question his choice of a Muggle therapist. Next week, he was going to have to find a way to explain how his adolescence was spent simultaneously trying to avoid trouble and kill a dark lord; and all without bringing up magic, trolls, three-headed dogs, giant snakes, mermaids, dragons, or...er, Dark Lords.

 

He clearly hadn't thought this through from the beginning. Harry resigned himself to searching for a Mind Healer when he arrived back at Grimmauld place. Or...if he could suffer through another one of Hermione's meddling sessions, he could ask her to do it. She'd probably already picked one out for him anyway. 

 

When he arrived home, he went to his trunk and dug through it, throwing items carelessly aside. At the bottom, he found what he was looking for. There, carefully wrapped and in miniature form was his Firebolt. Harry sucked in a breath and lifted it onto his lap with a reverence normally reserved for holy relics. After a minute, he got up and placed the broom on the floor, backed up several paces and pointed his wand.

 

Several failed tries to restore the broom to full size had Harry exasperated. He didn’t know if it was his magic skills still coming back, or if the broom had suffered permanent damage from remaining shrunken for over four years. Either way, he had been looking forward to taking to the skies to repair his emotional state, and the inability to do so had him feeling even more frazzled.

 

Overwhelmed, he bent his wand between his two hands and, just before the snapping point, felt awash with guilt. He threw it away from him and slammed his fist into the bed frame. Fuck it. He was going to go flying, even if it meant going to Diagon Alley for a new broom. After a minute, Harry pulled himself together and when his breathing returned to normal, he ran a hand through his hair and summoned his wand. It was time he made a public appearance anyway. Was it possible the public had forgotten him by now? 

 

Harry Apparated directly to Diagon Alley and took a quick stroll up to Broomstix. He perused the wares briefly, but it was no contest. He chose their newest broom in stock, the Galaxy 450. A young wizard was manning the counter and, as he wrapped up the broom, suddenly grinned. “Say, you look a lot like Harry Potter,”

 

Harry froze momentarily, his fingers still curled around the galleons in his palm. Then he handed them over with a smile. “Really? I’m flattered.”

 

“You are, aren’t you?” The glee in his voice was apparent. “Hey, everyone! We’ve got a real celebrity here! Mr. Potter, you wouldn’t mind signing my broom, would you?”

 

Harry was instantly swarmed by the customers in the store. As a matter of self-preservation, he quickly autographed anything that was thrust into his hands, but when it seemed like a fresh wave of people were making their way into Broomstix, he elbowed his way to the door, leaving his purchase behind.

 

People followed him out onto the street, and the crowd around him made it so that Harry was unable to disapparate. He was halfway to Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes when a quick-quotes quill bobbed in front of his eyes. He scowled and pressed on, but not before a familiar voice met his ears.

 

“Mister Potter! A moment of your precious time, please!”

 

“Sod off, Skeeter!” He growled. “I have nothing to say to you.”

 

“Mister Potter!” She pressed on anyway. “Is this your first public appearance since the Christmas incident of 2000?”

 

“You know it is,” Harry said.

 

“So are you free from the oppressive thumb of the young Malfoy, or has he merely loosened your chains, so to speak?”

 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry rolled his eyes.

 

“Mister Potter, what was it like being forced to subvert your will to your former classmate and son of a known Death-Eater?”

 

“It’s much like carrying on a conversation with you,” Harry snapped. “Some people don’t take no for an answer, and then you spend the rest of the time defending your actions to no avail and ultimately have the tables turned on you anyway.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. If Draco ever read his statement or how Skeeter would twist it, he might think Harry didn’t want him back.

 

“Mister Potter, have you suffered irreparable damage at the hands of your former keeper?”

 

Harry stopped walking and looked at her pointedly. “No, I have not. He’s not the monster you’re making him out to be. We had a contract, which means that I willingly signed into his service. I’m not interested in your opinion on the matter.”

 

“You had a contract?” Skeeter parroted. “Are you implying that said contract has expired? And if so, what are your plans now? Will you enter into another similar agreement? Are you available to others? What are your terms of negotiation?”

 

“No!” Harry growled. “I am not available to others. I don’t want to be contacted by anyone who is interested. For the last time, I want my privacy. Why can’t you respect that?” Harry pushed past her once more.

 

The quick-quotes quill hurried along after him. "Are you romantically involved with Draco Malfoy?”

 

“No comment,” Harry said.

 

“Were you the reason his arranged marriage with Astoria Greengrass fell to pieces? Did your secret relationship drive her into the arms of his best man?”

 

“No comment!” Harry repeated.

 

“Lucius Malfoy publicly renounced his son after the incident. Can you tell me if they have patched things up since then?”

 

“Why don’t you ask Lucius Malfoy?” Harry asked, managing to keep the tremor from his voice.

 

“Mister Potter, what can you tell us about your time with Draco Malfoy?”

 

“Nothing!” Harry screeched. “For fuck’s sake, leave me alone!” He tipped his head down and ran as fast as he could, just to get away from her. When he thought he might be far enough away, he gripped his wand in his hand and disapparated.

 

Harry arrived at Grimmauld place in a collapsed heap on the floor. His pulse was thumping wildly in his veins and he thought his heart might rupture. Not from exertion, but from the painful reminder of how empty he was without Draco. How out of control. How simply out of place in the world.


	13. Chapter 13

Harry incinerated the Prophet without so much as a glance at the headline. Hermione fire-called him before leaving for work as usual but there was more concern in her voice than normal and she asked him if he was alright. Harry could only assume that she had actually read Skeeter's article. Harry said he was fine but asked if maybe Hermione could swing by after work if she had the time, with some groceries, if it wasn't too much trouble.

 

When the doorbell rang at four, Harry's first thought was that Hermione was early, and he rolled his eyes. Then, he reminded himself that this was Hermione, and compulsively mothering her friends was one of her traits. Not to mentioned he'd invited her over, and asked a favor of her to boot. With a sigh, he hauled himself out of bed.

 

He was still half undressed from his afternoon nap and didn't bother to throw a shirt on as he ran down the stairs. He moved into the entryway and undid the latch, allowing the door to swing open. In hindsight, failing to look through the peephole the day a probably-controversial article hit the press was a bad idea.

 

"Harry!" Ivan was standing on his doorstep. He smiled brightly and swept Harry, who was dumbstruck and frozen, into an embrace. 

 

"I-Ivan?" Harry stammered in confusion. He gripped the larger man's biceps to help support himself as he was lifted off his feet in a bear hug. When his feet again touched the floor, he wondered aloud, "What are you doing here?"

 

Ivan rubbed his beard."I had hoped you would have contacted me when your contract had expired, but it seems the news has reached the media first. Nevertheless, my friend, I am happy to see you. I hope I do not impose? Can I come in?"

 

"I ..." Harry looked askance, then shrugged. "Yeah, alright. Cuppa?" Harry busted in the kitchen, putting together a tray. He poured Ivan's tea and nudged the plate nearer to him before sitting down. He honestly hadn't expected to see the slave-trainer again and was feeling a little leary, especially given Ivan's brief mention of the media.

 

"So..." Harry curled his fingers around his cup. "How's things going with the Dragons then?"

 

Ivan smiled a knowing sort of smile and launched into all the developments that had gone on since Harry left. They made small chat like this for awhile, with Ivan dropping in various innuendos about slave training until Harry sighed and stood to refill Ivan's cup.

 

"You have not changed a bit," Ivan said with a smile.

 

Harry wasn't sure why that comment, of all things, bothered him but it did. He had changed so very much since the last time he had seen Ivan and the suggestion that he was a naive, silly young man without any worldly experience made him angry. He let the teapot down with a 'thunk'. "Why are you here, Ivan?" Harry let the weariness he was feeling come through in his voice.

 

Ivan looked a little surprised by Harry's tone, and spread his fingers thoughtfully. "Harry, I know it has been a long time for us but I have felt an attraction to you since we first met. I like you, and I must say I was hoping to...rekindle our flames, as they say. Now that you are free of your obligation, perhaps you have an interest in seeing me again?"

 

Harry looked away and swallowed. Nothing about this felt right. Not sitting here having tea, not this conversation, and certainly not returning to Ivan’s side. “I...I don’t think so.”

 

“Really?” Ivan went from surprised to stunned. “I thought you loved me, Harry. You told me so.”

 

“I did. I really did,” Harry admitted, glancing at Ivan. “But then you let me go away when I begged you not to...things are different now.”

 

“Harry,” Ivan reached for his hand and childishly, Harry pulled back. “What choice did I have?”

 

“You didn’t even fight for me. You handed me over to him. You said he would be good for me, based on what you knew about his father.” Harry stood up, feeling all the pent up rage he’d felt over the years come to the surface. He had never understood Ivan's sentiment. It had been one of the last things that Ivan had ever said to Harry, and it had bothered him all these years. Did he truly believe Lucius was a model slave owner, ignorantly sending hordes of human chattel to impending doom? Or worse, did he think Lucius' methods were tried and true?

 

"Lucius Malfoy is a fucking monster!" Harry errupted. "Do you even know what he does to his slaves? He breaks them, and I mean really breaks them. Like a spoiled little boy with too many toys. He is not a good master, he’s cruel, and beyond sadistic, and you thought he would be good for me...”

 

Ivan swallowed. “But you weren’t sold to Lucius...it was his son, no? Harry, I...knew he is a hard man to please but I did not think you would be in danger. Were you harmed?”

 

Harry contemplated showing him the scar on his arse, but decided better of it, lest Ivan take it as an invitation of sorts. “Did you know we went to school together?” He asked instead. Ivan shook his head. “We were enemies, then.”

 

“He hurt you." Ivan frowned. "Harry, I did not think things would go so wrong for you. You were young and eager. I thought it would be easy for you to adapt. I did not think about the consequences of your past. I am sorry for that."

 

"You didn't tell the Aurors where I was after they questioned you." Harry accused him without acknowledging the apology.

 

"I could not." Ivan said. "I told you Vitazul's is secret to outsiders. I am bound by contract-"

 

Harry slammed his hand down on the table top. "Don't fucking lie to me! You told me about it. You're the one who got me interested in the first place!"

 

Ivan's eyes darkened. "Ya, I tell you what I can, but even then, not so much. You not have all the details before you come in." Harry could tell he was getting angry. Ivan's English rapidly deteriorated with his mood, and he had no doubt they'd soon be conversing in Romanian.

 

"Yeah, you didn't think to tell me either, that I could have just...fucking written my own contract with you instead of going through that fucking place. Or just, I dunno, dated you and we could have played around on the side. I was eighteen, for Merlin's sake, Ivan!"

 

"I do not date." Ivan crossed his arms over his chest. "I bring you with me because it was only way for you to be with me. I am busy with two jobs. I not have time to train you right way. Is selfish? Yes. But you cannot blame me for wanting you."

 

Harry shook his head. "Knowing I would be auctioned off after a year? You know I had plenty of time to think about what you did to me."

 

"What I did to you?" Ivan burst into Romanian and threw his hands in the air.

 

"Took advantage of me. I was naive. Stupid. Stubborn. In love with you."

 

Ivan's chair scraped against the floor as he stood. "I came here to tell you I still have feelings for you and you..." he gestured flippantly. "Why did you even let me in if you feel that way? Like I am some bad man...if I was so terrible, why are you not afraid I will kidnap you and force you back again?"

 

The thought hadn't occurred to Harry, but now that the possibility had been laid out, he felt the blood drain from his face. He toppled the chair over in his haste to get into the kitchen, scrabbling for his wand. He still forgot to keep it on his person, and this was the worst time to be without it. Harry turned to find Ivan, his bear-like hulk filling up the doorway.

 

"You will not dare to point that at me," Ivan growled.

 

Harry lifted his arm, aiming his wand.

 

Ivan's eyes narrowed. He straightened, then barked the command that had Harry crashing to his knees out of habit. In two strides, he closed the distance between them and picked the wand from the floor where it had fallen. He set it aside on the counter. "You still want to obey me, this is proof, Harry. You need order, you crave it."

 

"No," Harry whispered, horrified with himself.

 

A smug look returned to Ivan's face. "I know what you need, my little Harry. You need discipline. Have you been away from the Malfoy boy for very long? You have forgotten your place, but it will be easy for me to remind you. Come here, little one." 

 

The words were right and Harry's body was reacting to them with a racing heart and quickening breath. Below his belt, his cock was half-hard. But, the voice and the person it belonged to couldn't have been more wrong. His stomach was sour and he had to swallow back the bile in his throat. He pushed himself to his feet. "Get out, Ivan."

 

Ivan smirked and grabbed for Harry, pulling him flush against his body. "You know how this game ends, but you play anyway. This is what I missed about you."

 

Harry struggled in the larger man's grasp. "I'm not playing. I really want you to get out. I don't want you anymore. I only want Draco!"

 

"The Malfoy boy?" Ivan snorted. "He no longer wants you, or he would be here. You would have said you were together. No wonder you are acting like this- you are grieving for your loss. I can help you get over him, come back to Constanta with me. You can stay on the reserve this time if it bothers you. It will take some time, but I can make our old arrangement work again. You can still do the grooming if you want to stay in our room."

 

"I said no!" 

 

"Don't be foolish Harry. We are perfect for eachother, I will remind you..."

 

"Ivan!" Harry pulled away again. "I think you should leave now!"

 

Ivan swung his large hand, catching Harry's bottom with a loud crack. "Do not be impertinent!"

 

"No means no!" Harry heard Hermione's voice shout. Later he woukd find a bit of humor in her choice of words, so practiced, so trite. She didn't understand that in the world Harry and Ivan lived in, 'no' could be ignored or easily misinterpreted. It wasn't as cement here as it was elsewhere. 

 

But before Harry could think on this further or even wonder when Hermione had arrived, something heavy clunked against the side of Ivan's head. His mouth opened in surprise right before his eyes rolled up in his head and he went down like a sack of flour at Harry's feet.

 

Harry looked over Ivan's body in amazement at Hermione.

 

"Are you alright?"

 

Harry reached out and snatched his wand, holding it flush against his chest as he stared down at Ivan. "What did you hit him with?" He asked, deliberately avoiding responding to her question. The answer was a resounding no, but as soon as he admitted that, he was going to be utterly useless.

 

Hermione held up her purse with a grin. "There's a brick in it. I didn't know if I was going to have to fight off a horde of would-be suitors on your doorstep but it turns out, just the one. That's Ivan? "

 

Harry bit his lip and nodded. "How much did you hear?"

 

Hermione stalled a moment. "I came in when you were kneeling for him and I wasn't sure if you were...role playing or not. I didn't want to interrupt but...I thought there was a chance you might be in trouble so I put your groceries on the table and stuck around a minute."

 

"Glad you did," Harry said with a sniff.

 

"Was that...I mean, were things that way with..."

 

"With Draco?" Harry finished. Hermione nodded and Harry shook his head. "No. There was never that kind of power struggle between us. If I..." he looked at her questioningly. "Are you sure you want to hear this?"

 

"I have been doing a lot of thinking, Harry. And some reading. I want to know why you want this. I haven't always listened to you, and I know I haven't been the best of friends lately."

 

Harry jerked his chin at Ivan. "I say you've been a great friend most recently. Do you think we can get him out of here first?"

 

"You want I should make him disappear?" Hermione said with a poor imitation of a Russian accent and waved her wand threateningly. 

 

Harry giggled a bit and wiped one eye with the back of his hand then shook his head. "Let's just get him out of here. I never want to look at him again. "


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Keri_87 and DFAKB for their invaluable advice and support in writing this chapter.

Draco returned from Mike and Gideon’s, feeling even more downtrodden than usual. When he’d first met them, they had been planning on spending a year abroad in France while their families adjusted to the idea of the two of them together. Then, Mike’s family had told him not to bother coming back and they’d both been upset and for a couple of different reasons, they decided to stay on longer than planned. Tonight, Gideon had met Draco at the door to their flat and handed him an uncorked bottle of wine and announced, “We’re going back to the states.”

Draco didn’t bother with any sort of exclamations, just raised the bottle to his lips and drank. And drank. He was familyless, Harry-less, and soon would be friendless as well. Jolly-fucking-good.

As soon as he got home, he went out on the patio to smoke a cigarette he’d pilfered from Gideon and contemplate things, and maybe drunkenly prune some of the plants he’d been neglecting lately. His mother’s owl was waiting for him on the rail and held it’s leg out, heavy with a scroll.

He had exchanged owls with his mother on a monthly basis beginning shortly after his arrival in France and she was always careful to write about neutral topics such as her most recent shopping trip, or the weather, or the latest gossip. She never spoke of Draco’s father or their slaves or the Greengrasses. Draco’s correspondence with her had been terse and reluctant at first, and slowly blossomed into something like indifference and courtesy. Given that Draco had written her only last week, he was surprised to see the owl again so soon. He went into the kitchen, returning with a few stale crisps from the open bag on the counter and traded them for the parchment, which he unrolled only after lighting his cigarette.

My Dearest Draco,

It has taken me some time to come to terms with what I must tell you. Indeed, I have known about your father’s condition for sometime, and I have not known how to broach the topic, so I have, perhaps selfishly, allowed you to continue with your endeavors, unawares.

You know that your father has not been himself since returning from Azkaban. Shortly after you retreated to France, he took a turn for the worse and has been physically unwell in addition to his mental unrest. I fear that his health has recently taken a steep decline. It has been three weeks since he has left his bedchamber without assistance. He has asked after you twice now and this, after nearly two years of refusing to acknowledge your very existence.

I hope you can see the seriousness of the occasion and I beg you to set aside your own feelings and wounded pride for a time. Your presence is requested home as soon as you can make the arrangements.

All my love,

Mother

Draco smoked the cigarette down to the filter, burning the edges of the parchment with the dying ember. He wished he had another one, and perhaps a bottle of firewhiskey to sip while he contemplated the news. His father was dying, or so it would appear. He supposed that he should feel sad or perhaps angry.

He didn't.

Draco didn't feel anything except the urge to laugh bitterly....that wasn't true - he did feel a little guilty about his apathy. He flicked the butt of his cigarette and went in search of something else to drink. He couldn't imagine facing the man who had disinherited him and refused to acknowledge the existence of his own son for over two years. And yet, he knew he would go, for his mother if for no other reason.

He remembered that there was an unopened bottle of Grey Goose in the cabinet. After retrieving it, he sat staring at it for several minutes. Drinking was not a solution to his problems. Draco was fairly certain he'd learned this lesson the hard way at least once before. But in Harry's absence, he didn't see a better option. Self-destruction was painful in the beginning and at the end, but the middle -well, that was bliss.

The next morning, a familiar sense of self-loathing surrounded Draco as he stood outside the gates of Malfoy Manor. There was an oppressive feeling about him and the air felt thick, almost as though it were pushing him back. He curled his hands around the filigree and was surprised when the gates swung open with only a token resistance. Draco had assumed he'd been warded off the property, and though he'd been granted access, he clearly wasn't welcome. Draco dragged his feet along the walkway to the front door feeling as though he were wading through water,stuffing his hands into his pockets to keep from nervously playing with his fingers.

The door opened as soon as Draco's shoes hit the step. He introduced himself to the brunette slave that answered the door, then allowed himself to be escorted into the parlor where he was asked to wait for 'The Mistress'.

Draco nodded, then paced idly,trying to ignore the feeling that he was being scrutinized, until his mother arrived. "Oh, Draco!" She breathed, and quickly crossed to embrace him. He received her more stiffly than even he had anticipated, and she pulled back with a sigh to give him the maternal once-over. Her lips pressed together disapprovingly. "You're dreadfully thin. Shall I have a tray brought in for you?"

Draco shrugged and looked away. He had a feeling she would in any case. "Have you got a spare hang-over potion by any chance?"

This time Narcissa sighed but nodded and waved her attendant away to fetch the potion. When he had gone, she hugged Draco again then pulled him over to the sete settee. He perched on the cushion beside her and she took his hand. "It's good to have you home, darling."

"I only came because you asked me to," Draco admitted. "I don't belong here anymore. Even the house doesn't want me, I can feel it."

Narcissa's fingers tightened around his. "That's not true. You're always welcome here." Draco said nothing. "Your father is sorry, Draco."

Draco snorted and pulled his hand out of hers. "I have no doubt that now he is on his deathbed and lacking an heir hei-”

Narcissa’s eyes flashed icily. “I doubt you would be so cavalier once you’ve seen him. I am torn between regret and relief that your father seems to be having one of his ‘off-days’ today. There is a chance he will not be able to convey his heartache about distancing himself from you, however you will be able to see the seriousness of the situation. What I have to deal with...”

“Is this about you, then, mother? Your trials and tribulations as father lays dying? Perhaps you should have the slaves put on the kettle and I can skip the pretense of making nice with father and listen to you tell me how hard things are for you instead.”

Narcissa stared at Draco for a moment, then lowered her eyes and shook her head. “You seek to wound me with your words, my darling, and I fear you have been successful... It has been two years, and I have cried a sea of tears for you. Every day you are gone, the hole in my heart gapes no less. I have championed for you, and awaited your return.

“You should know that when you left, abandoning us as you abandoned your fiance your father’s heart was rent as well. Perhaps you had forgotten that he had not been himself for years, certainly not since the end of the war, and definitely not since his return from Azkaban. He was not always a such a hard man; strict, perhaps, cruel at times, but he loved us no less.

“What he is going through, this...stripping of his faculties, the slow degeneration of his mind- it must be hard for him. No doubt, to lose one’s sense of time and to be lost in a lifetime of memories is confusing. And he can no longer hold his head up proudly. But, he is slipping away in front of my very eyes, and to watch the man you have loved -the man who has been your life- succumb to the hands of death, that, my sweet Draco, is very painful indeed. So yes, darling, it is about me, and it is about your father, and when you’ve seen him, it will be about you as well.” Narcissa reached into her pocket , withdrawing a handkerchief to dab at her eyes. “He is not the man you remember. Perhaps, though, it is best for you to see for yourself.” She stood and beckoned to him to do so as well.

As Draco rose from the sofa, the slave returned with a tray. Narcissa plucked a phial from it and held it out to Draco. “When you’ve finished with him, we’ll have something to eat and you can tell me how you’ve really been. You’ll want something in your stomach before you have a drink, anyway. Is it still firewhiskey, these days Draco? I should like to have your favorites of everything, if you’ll let me.” She brushed his hair back from his face, then planted a quick kiss to his cheek. “I’m still your mother, you’ll let me spoil you a bit, won’t you?”

Draco shrugged one shoulder and he rolled the phial in his hand. “If you feel you must.” He finally conceded and uncorked the phial, tipping it to his lips. “Apple Pie.” He said, pressing the empty phial into her palm.

“Sorry, dear?” Narcissa looked confused.

“Apple pie. A favorite.” Draco glanced at her, then moved to the doorway. Harry made the best apple pie, and Draco had come to love it. It had been weeks since he’d had it, and already it seemed like a lifetime ago. But, if he was going to wallow in self pity, he might as well get it all done and over with at once. “Father is in his suite?” Narcissa nodded and Draco slipped away.

Draco stood outside his father's room for what felt like forever, then shook off the foreboding feeling that surrounded him. It was silly. His father was just a man, and a purportedly dying one at that. Finally, he put his hand on the knob and went in, closing the door behind him before turning toward the four-poster.

Startled, he took a step backward. The man in the bed was a faded facsimile of Draco's father. If Draco was thin, Lucius was gaunt. Lucius' hair seemed thin and brittle, and no longer framed his face so much as it highlighted the angles and planes. Lucius' eyes were closed and he appeared to be resting. Draco bit his lip and tiptoed nearer, easing himself into the armchair to the side of his head.

"Who's there?" Lucius grumbled, frowning without opening his eyes.

Draco pursed his lips, hesitant to respond. He toed the floor, then sighed. "It's Draco, father. I've come home."

"Come home, have you?" Lucius' lip curled and his eyes slitted open. "Come to beg my forgiveness?"

Draco jerked in place. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but was caught off guard by his father's fury. It seemed so out of place given Lucius' sickly and frail veneer. He sneered in turn. "I've done nothing wrong."

"I'd backhand you, were you any closer." Lucius warned coldly. He struggled to push himself up and Draco let him flounder. Lucius' helplessness only seemed to make him angrier. "You have betrayed this family above all else, and you have misplaced your loyalty with the figurehead of all that is wrong with our world. You have shamed me...and I am ashamed to have sired such a weakling."

A cold knot formed in Draco's stomach as he fought to control his resentment. "I am not sorry." Draco emphasized.

Lucius glared at him. "You are not my son. That Potter-boy has ruined him and given me this sad excuse of a Wizard in return. The Draco I knew respected my authority. The Draco I knew had a sense of duty to this family. He was strong, and smart...and bound to be successful."

"I am all of those things," Draco argued before he could stop himself.

Lucius scoffed. "Your mother tells me you have indentured yourself in order to learn a trade. You'll be a common laborer." His nose wrinkled in disdain.

"I will have the pride of an honest day's work in a field that I enjoy." Draco lifted his chin.

Lucius' laugh was cold and detached. "You have allowed yourself to be taken in by the codswhollop of the lower classes. It's brainwash to keep them in their stations. Manual labor is not enjoyable...the pursuit of gentlemanly hobbies is enjoyable. Reaping the rewards of a good investment is enjoyable. Exploiting the pleasures of the flesh-this is enjoyable. Toiling and taxation?" He waved a bony hand dismissively.

Draco gazed out onto the grounds for a moment, then pushed himself to his feet. "I'm sorry you think so, father-"

"You are not my son. Until you are penitent for your sins against me and the Malfoy name, I have no son." Lucius glared.

Draco tried not to let his shoulders slump. He told himself he didn't need or want Lucius' forgiveness. "It appears we are at an impasse, then. Perhaps when you are nearer to death's door, you will change your mind." He sniffed. "You may call on me then, and if I am not busy with arrangements more satisfying than watching you take your final breath, I may come to call."

Lucius gaped in disbelief.

"You taught me heartlessness, Father. Harry Potter taught me to love." He crossed the room and twisted the knob in his hands, crossing the threshold without looking back. "Good day."

Narcissa seemed surprised to see Draco in the sitting room again so soon. "Was he sleeping?"

"He was at first. He's not anymore, or at least he wasn't when I left." Draco threw himself down into a chair and glared at the sideboard across the room. "I'll take that drink now, if you don't mind."

"Oh dear," Narcissa said. "Was he very bad off? Is there a need for me to attend him?"

"He was perfectly Father." Draco responded sourly. "He chooses to hold a grudge, even on his deathbed. There is nothing more to be done."

Narcissa frowned. "He has been increasingly agitated and aggressive of late. But I beg you to give him another chance. Allow him some time to think on what he's said. If he remains lucid, I know he'll have a change of heart." She turned to address the slave in the corner. "Petrus, I would like you to attend my son as you would myself."

"As you wish, my lady." The slave dipped his dark-haired head and crossed to Draco, slipping to his knees and bowing his head. "Sir."

Draco squirmed uncomfortably. "Mother, this really isn't necessary. I just want a drink..." he started to get up. "I can get it myself. It's amazing how I've learned to make do since Harry..." he stopped abruptly when he noticed the way his mother was looking at him with utter disbelief.

"Sit down, Draco. Petrus will attend you, as is his duty. It's not befitting for you as my son or my guest to serve yourself. And you shouldn't have to 'make do' either. Before you go, I want you to stop by the slave quarters and pick a nice boy for yourself. I'll have his contract signed over as soon as your father will sign. He'll have a whiskey, Petrus. Neat, two fingers."

Draco fell back into his chair to avoid tripping on the slave that was turning toward the sideboard. "I don't want one of your slaves, mother."

"Don't be ridiculous. When I read in the paper that the Potter boy's contract had expired, I naturally assumed you had made arrangements for yourself. But silly me, how could you have? So busy, my darling; you work too hard. Your father is too sick to make use of so many boys, and me, my goodness, I'm only one woman." Narcissa smiled. "Take one, they'll be happy for it, I assure you."

Draco accepted his drink and sniffed it. He hadn't had a sip of firewhiskey in over two years. He was acutely aware of his mother's scrutiny.

"Something wrong, dear?"

With a frown, he pushed the drink back at Petrus. "I'd rather a gin and tonic. And I don't want another slave. I want Harry back."

Narcissa laughed sadly. "Oh, darling, I know what it's like to lose a favorite pet. But they all go, you know that. That's why there's no sense in falling in love with slaves."

"He loves me too," Draco said softly. He knew she wouldn't understand, but if he couldn't tell his own mother, then who?

Narcissa sighed as though she had long humored him. "Will you take lunch?"

Draco appeased his mother by eating until he was more than full and allowing her to prattle on and on until he was nearly falling asleep from boredom. He jerked himself up at the last minute and wiped his face, then smoothed his hair. Draco stood and straightened his clothes.

"You're not going, are you? You'll see your father again, won't you? Draco darling?"

Draco sighed and rubbed his face with both hands this time. "Alright. Alright, but this is it. I won't stand for his abuse again."

"No, darling, you shouldn't have to..." Narcissa said through a teary smile.

Draco ran up the stairs this time, eager for it to be over so he could return to his flat, where things were normal.

He opened his father's door without knocking and found him sitting up, propped though at what appeared to be a very uncomfortable angle. Lucius looked to the door and smiled slightly.

"About time you've come to see me. I trust your mother has fed you lunch, and talked your ear off, no doubt."

Draco was startled by both Lucius' accuracy and demeanor. "Yes," he said slowly.

"Very well. And how are your marks this term? The Granger girl still besting you at Transfiguration?"

"Granger? Marks? Father, I've graduated Hogwarts...nearly four years ago. I'm an apothecary's apprentice now. Mother's told you that much..."

Lucius frowned. "Of course." Draco could practically see the gears turning as his father struggled to make sense of it.

Draco ground his teeth together to keep himself from blurting the sequence of events that had occurred up to this point. "You've been ill," he pointed out, perhaps needlessly.

Lucius nodded, staring down at his hands. "Why an apprentice? Why haven't you taken over the family funds? Who has been managing the accounts?"

Draco was quiet a moment. "Mother, I expect. You...disinherited me."

"I did..." Lucius said as if he weren't surprised but confused. "Whatever for?"

Draco slumped in the chair and looked up at the ceiling. This wasn't how he had envisioned their second conversation going either.

"Draco?" A trembling hand touched his own. "I can't imagine why I would do such a thing. Was is very bad, what you did?"

"No, father. Not so bad at all," Draco replied, withdrawing his hand. He did not want to go down that road again. Looking askance, he noticed that there was a book propped open on the bedside table and he reached for it. "Shall I read to you?"

"Start at the beginning," Lucius instructed, closing his eyes. The first several chapters appeared well-thumbed and the rest of the book untouched. Draco imagined that this ritual had been repeated many times. Within minutes, Lucius was asleep.

Draco sat there a long while, staring at his father, or rather the shell of a man that used to be his father. He understood now. Within minutes, his two years worth of anger and resentment had drained away to be replaced with pity. Pity for the existence Lucius led. Pity for his mother who dealt with it on a daily basis. He supposed it was his father's due though. Madness in exchange for the ones he tortured, the people he hurt. The Dark Mark on his father's arm was fading in streaks toward his bicep and Draco wondered if that had something to do with it. No doubt the healers knew and were unable to do anything about it. Draco was sure his mother had spared no expense in treatments.

After a time, Draco stood again. He touched his father's sleeve ever so gently before he left. "I forgive you, Father." He whispered to himself. Sometimes it was important to give compassion, knowing you'd get none in return.


	15. Chapter 15

Hermione had invited Harry over for the afternoon to discuss the mind healer she'd found for him. She was Susan Bones' Muggleborn cousin and had a dual practice as a therapist and a mind-healer. Hermione thought she would be well suited for Harry since his emotional trauma spanned over both worlds, and luckily Harry had been amenable to the suggestion.

Hermione could tell that Harry still seemed lost, but he'd been in something like captivity for nearly four years. For Harry's sake and for the sake of their friendship, she had been looking into Harry's so-called lifestyle online. There was literally hordes of information there, but unfortunately it was not all quality material and some of it was contradictory, which made things difficult for her. And since Harry hadn't been too keen on giving her the details of his...headspace, or whatever they called it, she had taken to reading a couple of the more articulate blogs, one from the dominant's point of view and the other three from the submissive's.

Hermione's admittedly narrow grasp of the two roles boiled down to one's attraction to the headiness of having power and exerting control over another person and the other's addiction to endorphins and adrenaline released by the brain through physical exertion and pain-play. For Malfoy, she could see why he would be taken in by it, and she even made allowances for the fact that he'd been raised that way. But Harry's end of it was almost akin to drug-addiction, even if it was "all natural", and the activist in her still thought he needed saving, and Malfoy could probably benefit from professional intervention as well.

Still, Harry was her friend and she'd vowed to make a proper go of listening, understanding and respecting him while leaving his rehabilitation to the therapist. So she'd asked Harry over for tea and to see how things were going for him. It wasn't surprising that their conversation had taken a tangential route, however. Hermione was still trying to understand Harry's perspective and she may have inadvertently started an argument by pointing out that D/s relationships were one-sided relationships that resulted in the submissive party being taken advantage of.

"Look Hermione, all relationships are D/s relationships. There's always going to be give and take. The degree just varies and some people may lean toward one extreme or the other, but the balance is there."

"That's not what it was like with Ron!" Hermione argued.

"I know, and that's why it didn't work." Harry pointed out. "You both try to take too much and no one was giving enough."

Hermione had been affronted. "I'm supposed to give more? I work just as much as he does! Because I’m the woman I should have to come home and cook and clean on top of it?”

Harry sighed. “That’s not what I mean. You’re supposed to figure out what each other’s needs are, and if you want to be together, you find a way to make each other happy. Molly doted on her children, is it any surprise Ron doesn’t know how to do any household chores? I’m not saying it’s right, but that’s where he’s coming from. And your parents were more the fifty-fifty sort, but you don’t want to do any either.”

“What are you getting at?” Hermione huffed.

Harry folded his arms over his chest. “You’re a hypocrite, Hermione."

“I am not!”

“You are.” Harry insisted. “You have more in common with Draco than you realize. You both value your career and your contributions to society, and how the public views you. You both recognize that your work is important and you need support at home in order to make your free time enjoyable. Both of you are intelligent individuals who have a lot of drive and both of you have a need to control your environment. The difference between you is that Draco recognizes that about himself and has taken steps to accommodate his needs. You, on the other hand, expect everyone to to drop what they are doing to listen to you at any time of the day or night and get mad when other people voice concerns or contradictions, or if something in their life pulls a higher priority.”

Hermione was spluttering indignantly but Harry pressed on.

“You’re a dominant, Hermione, whether you want to accept it or not. Ron is too, in a different way, but unless each of you make it a priority to please each other from time to time, it’s never going to work out between you.

“I am not a sexual aggressor!" She hissed, red-faced.

"I know. I wasn't talking about sex. Being a dominant personality doesn't have to involve sex at all." Harry said matter-of-factly. "But if you want to talk about sex, all i'm saying is, Ron probably wouldn't mind-"

"Absolutely not!"

Harry sighed. "Wouldn't mind if you quit giving him mixed signals is what I was going to say. I mean, you boss him around all day but then you get to the bedroom and you clam up and expect him to figure it out..."

"Oh. My. Gods!" Hermione buried her face in her hands. "I am not having this conversation with you, Harry! And I can't believe Ron did either. I'll kill him!"

"See?" Harry said. "Hypocrite. My sex life is fair game for discussion but yours is off the table."

Hermione's shoulders slumped. He had a point. "It's only that mine is nor-,er, typical." She argued.

"I don't know..." Harry hedged. "I'm not sure it's typical to only have sex on a bed with the lights out, in the missionary position. I mean, maybe for our grandparents, but not for people nowadays. Not since the 60's, at the very least. Not for a self-proclaimed feminist like you."

Hermione's cheeks flushed deeply and she felt their heat beneath her fingertips. "It is a matter of personal integrity, Harry! One can be a feminist and still respect their own limitations. I don't feel the need to parade around like that, I respect myself enough to-"

"You're embarrassed, Hermione. I can see that much. You're trim and fit, and Ron loves you. Why are you so embarrassed to show him your body?" Harry stirred his tea. Hermione wondered how he had so effortlessly managed to turn the tables on her.

"It's just not proper!" She hissed.

"Who gets to decide what's proper? Your mother? Society? And I'm the brainwashed one?"

"Stop it, Harry! It's degrading! It's degrading to myself and other women to be expected to put themselves on display for the men in their lives. It's just a body, and it shouldn't matter what it looks like beneath clothes and robes! My underthings are practical and functional. I shouldn't have to adorn myself with scraps of fabric and lace just so the person I love will leer at me and feel entitled to grab at me!"

Harry took one of her hands and held it between his own. He was quiet but Hermione could tell he had something to say. "What?" She snapped, then sighed. "I'm sorry Harry. You look like you want to say something else. I'm just not sure I am enjoying this conversation much..."

He quirked a brow.

Hermione slumped again. She was capable of making inferences. "I am not enjoying it at all. And you've been on the receiving end for weeks. And I'm sorry."

Harry smiled slightly. "Thank you. I appreciate it. It's not fun, you're right. But sometimes it can help put things in perspective... I...can I just say one more thing? And then I'll stop, I promise."

Hermione bit her lip before nodding. She wasn't sure she wanted to hear any more, but she owed Harry the courtesy, at the very least.

"Ok, look, I know it's hard to see but like I said, this is about perspective. I think you're going about this, the sex thing, from the wrong angle. I mean, sure, if we're talking about the general male populace, then yes, the expectation that you or any other woman has to be in lacy knickers to be sexy IS degrading. But we're not talking about men as a whole, disgusting lot. We're talking about one bloke -Ron. Ron who has been in love with you for years, Ron who loves you for the strong and brilliant but often bossy witch that you are. Ron, who was raised by Molly Weasley, for Merlin's sake, Hermione. Do you honestly think Ron is trying to degrade you? Why would he? Ron doesn't want you to wear those things in order to MAKE you sexy, he wants you to wear them BECAUSE you're sexy and he loves your body, and he wants you to show it off to him so he can worship you properly and anoint you with kisses and whatever else you like. Confidence is sexy Hermione, and you have plenty of it elsewhere. You should have it in the bedroom too." Harry advised.

She hadn't realized that her reluctance in the bedroom had been such an issue. She had thought after so much time together, Ron ought to know what she wanted and what she liked. But from what Harry said, Ron was clueless like he was with everything else, and it should not have come as a surprise, but it did. Because men were supposed to be sexually experienced and take the initiative...except that she and Ron had been eachothers first-and-onlys, so how could he be those things.

Harry tugged on her arm when she looked away, blinking back tears. "Hermione, it's okay and it's not slutty, because you'd only be doing it for him and nobody would know but the two of you. I'm not saying you should feel like you have to do this or that it's okay for him to pressure you. All I'm getting at is that when two people care for eachother, you do things, sometimes, that you know will please the other person. Sex is much more enjoyable when it's not something you do because it's expected of you but because you want to. Believe me, I know."

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed. "I don't know how to be that person -that free and uninhibited person. I have way too many hang-ups and I over-analyze everything all the time. It's hard to be in the moment. How...how are you so...so...kinky?"

Harry laughed suddenly. "I don't think of myself as kinky, but I guess I am. But you don't have to be kinky in order to have a good sex-life. Vanilla is good too..."

"I know," Hermione sniffed. "But, I mean, how did you even find that side of yourself?"

Harry patted her arm and took a few moments to collect his thoughts. "You just have to be willing to experiment with someone you trust. Some things will feel really wrong, and those are the things you stop right away. Somethings feel uncomfortable and so maybe you let it ride a little longer and see if it's uncomfortable because it's new or because you don't like it. Other things you figure don't do anything for you either way, but if the other person is into it, you'd do it for them. And then there's the stuff that gets you going- it's pretty easy to tell that part."

"You trusted Malfoy from the beginning?" Hermione said dubiously. She didn't trust Malfoy as far as she could throw him.

"No," Harry shook his head. "I may have been naive, but I trusted Ivan,and I had a long time to figure things out with him. By the time Draco got ahold of me, I was pretty well-versed in kink. Look, you probably don't want to hear it, but at first, the sex was the only thing we had in common. He never raped me, not exactly..." he trailed off, grimacing then shook his head before pointedly looking at her. "Try not to focus on that bit too much. I know that part's fucked, but that's what the therapist is for, yeah? Anyway, we had a lot of time to get to know each other. I trust him now. He knows me, better than I know myself at times. And I know what he needs. It's not perfect, but we're good together."

"But why can't you be equals?" Hermione begged, filing that slip about rape away for another time. "Why does he have to be in charge?"

Harry made a funny face at her. "How would you feel if I was the dominant one?"

Hermione tried to imagine Harry forcing Malfoy on his hands and knees, telling him to lick his feet. "I can't picture it," she said. "That's not you, Harry."

"There!" He sat back looking satisfied with himself.

Hermione pressed on. "Because you're a good person and you would never deliberately humiliate someone, especially not in front of your friends. Harry, I can't get over that day he made you lick his boots when Ron and I were there! It was so terrible... I just think that if he is capable of doing that to you when you have an audience, what do you do without one?"

"Ah..." Harry said and appeared to think briefly. "That was not one of our finer moments in public...but what would you say if I told you I was glad for it?"

"In Ron's words, I'd say you're barking." Hermione shook her head in disbelief. Surely Harry was not that far gone?

"I was panicking," Harry said. "Completely out of my mind with humiliation, but not because of what he was doing...because of what the two of you might think of me for it. That...task... grounded me. Reminded me what mattered. Him and me, not you or your opinions. I felt better when you'd gone. I still feel uncomfortable knowing you think less of me because of it, but I'm working on it. I know it's hard for you, you don't understand."

"I'm trying to..." Hermione said wistfully.

"I know," Harry replied.

The two sat in companionable silence for a time as Hermione mulled things over. Finally she said, "Harry, you know Ron and I are still broken up?"

"Yeah..."

"Then why did you talk about us as if we're still..." she couldn't bring herself to finish, she missed Ron despite their constant bickering. Without him, she was only a shadow of herself. With a sinking feeling, she realized that was probably how Harry felt too.Ron had sided with Harry about Malfoy, and in rejecting Malfoy, she'd rejected her best friend and her boyfriend too.

Harry cocked an eyebrow. "Are you over him?"

"No, but-"

"He's not over you either." Harry said, "He's waiting for an apology. I...promised I wouldn't get involved but... he's really hurt. He feels completely invalidated and...and that's all I'm going to say. But you should go see him."

"I tried a few weeks ago and Ma-" She clipped off her statement before she spilled the beans about catching Ron hanging around Malfoy. "...And he didn't seem like he wanted to see me."

Harry shrugged and finished his tea, saying only, "Anything worth having is worth pursuing..." This time, the silence that descended was uncomfortable, and Harry got up. He brought his teacup and saucer into the kitchen and Hermione could hear him washing them out and setting them to dry. Fleetingly, she wished she had someone who'd clean up after himself, and maybe after her as well. But not a house-elf or a slave, because that was wrong... She gave Harry a small smile as he bent and kissed her temple.

"I didn't mean to make you so maudlin," he said.

"I'm not...I'm just trying to get everything sorted. You know...over-analyzing."

He offered her a grin. "You wouldn't be Hermione if you didn't do that...by the way, you think Ron looks sexy in his auror uniform?"

Hermione's smile widened. "Of course."

"You kinky thing, you." Harry winked. "Start there...after you apologize of course."

Hermione threw a biscuit at him with an indignant squeal. "I think you've overstayed your welcome."

Harry ducked and laughed, then levitated the biscuit from the floor to the table. "You're only mad because I'm right."

"Maybe," Hermione admitted. "But I guess you'll never know."


	16. Chapter 16

Draco rolled his hips, thrusting into Harry's mouth. It warm, dry, and slightly uncomfortable but it still felt good. He fisted Harry's hair, dragging him forward. Harry choked and Draco frowned. There really should have been more spit. He tugged Harry away from himself and looked down.  


The problem was apparent straightaway. This wasn't Harry, it was Pesha, Draco's first real slave; the first person Draco had ever loved. The deadness of his eyes sickened Draco and he moved to push him away, but someone cleared their throat.

It was Draco's father and he looked on from the chaperone's chair in the corner, vague amusement pulling at his bony features. "If he's still not tight enough, I have plenty of stuffing." Lucius held out a stack of papers to Draco.

Draco reached for them, only to find himself in possession of hundreds of invitations embossed with his and Astoria Greengrass's names. He looked from the invitations to his father to Pesha, feeling sicker by the moment.

Pesha opened his mouth and stuffed one invitation after another into it until his cheeks were bulging with the crumpled papers. Then, he forced himself back on Draco's length, working back and forth. It was warm and dry, but Draco didn't stop him, holding on tighter as a sense of disgust mounted in him along with the need to come.

As Draco's orgasm crashed over him, the world faded away. He jerked and found himself alone and in the dark, rutting against the sheets, which were no longer warm and dry but warm and wet. He swore and reached for his wand, setting everything to rights but unable to slow to beating of his heart or strike the horror from his brain.

Draco had loved Pesha once, and to teach Draco a lesson, Lucius had broken Pesha in front of him; reduced the lighthearted and smiling young slave to the shell of a man with no brightness behind his eyes. Lucius had broken dozens of such men over the years. He had nearly done it to Harry, and all because of Draco's ignorance.

Draco could not let himself forget that once, he had nearly broken Harry too. The thought made him so physically ill that he wretched as he lay in bed. Draco and his father were only two men. How many other wizards had done the same to their chattel? How many men and women had been destroyed at the hands of monsters over the years? Why hadn't anyone put a stop to it? How was Viteazul's still standing? Why didn't the ministry have laws in place to prevent the abuse of human beings?

Throwing back the blankets, Draco climbed from bed and set to pacing the length of the bedroom. He hadn't heard from Granger in weeks. What he knew of Harry had been passed to him by way of Ron. Harry still missed him. Harry was the same, but not. Draco didn't know what to make of it. He didn't know if Harry would come back to him, or if he would find someone else to call Sir.

Draco couldn't bear the thought that it might happen again; that someone would push Harry harder than he was capable of pushing back. And even if Draco wasn't meant to have Harry, he still didn't want him broken. There had to be something he could do to stop it. To save him. To save them all.

By the time Draco got himself around and put a pot of tea on, he had realized that this was both a topic sure to raise a lot of hackles and a monumental task that would require abundant effort and planning. Draco didn't have much spare time to allocate to such a task, but for Harry, he would make some. He would figure something out.

He readied himself through a series of automatic movements and made it in to into the apothecary on time but, by noon, Roam had had enough. In his distraction, Draco managed to screw up the same basic potion twice, given away the wrong dosage to one customer, and the wrong medication altogether to another.

"Get out, Draco. Come back tomorrow with your head on straight." Roam had gruffed as he shoved him out the back door of the shop.

Draco went back to his flat but felt useless and on edge. He needed to talk to someone about this, to get it off his chest if nothing else. But who? As he paced, he mentally catalogued the people he knew. And then it dawned on him.

_Granger_.


End file.
